#<- busting out the tagging system i rarely use

[infectiouspiss]

i love you 2003 skeleton girl (X)

[therealdogsinmymind]

✩ Turnabout ✩

18+ MDNI

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AO3 Link | Word Count: 5,206 | Chapters 1/1

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Synopsis: Jinwoo comes home injured and you’re brimming with excitement at the idea of being able to tend to his wounds like the good old days, however things get a bit carried away…

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Pairing: Sung Jinwoo/Male Reader, Sung Jinwoo/You

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Tags: Reader POV, Male Reader, S-Rank Jin-Woo, Minor Injuries, Domestic Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Communication, Established Relationship, Cock Tease, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Premature Ejaculation, Dacryphilia,

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Picture from @oo0mika0oo ‘s icon edits

It’s not often that S-Rank hunter Sung Jinwoo suffers defeat these days. Frankly it just doesn’t seem to happen anymore, and you’d never admit it to anyone but you wish just a smidgen that sometimes he would come home bloodied and bruised like he used to when he was an E-rank hunter. You miss taking care of him; kissing his wounds better and knowing that you serve a purpose in his life. You’re not really sure what your purpose is these days; you mostly cook for Jinah and wait for Jinwoo to come home from fighting whatever big bad he’s facing. Not that he does most days.

You’re not expecting today to be the day he comes home, uncharacteristically beaten down. You find yourself brimming with delight when he appears from nothingness behind you, smelling of dirt and blood. It’s fucking gross, but the point is that he’s disheveled and that’s a rare sight. You don’t turn around, you can’t, he’s taken to slumping over your back; however you can see him in the reflection of the window, his face is busted up.

”Tough fight?” you hum the question, internally vibrating with joy that he’s come home to you seeking comfort.

”No. Just unnecessarily long,” he sighs into your hair. You want so badly to turn around and look at the full damage but he has you trapped under his weight. You’re sure he wants to wallow in his displeasure at having been injured so you’ll have to make do. You reach back and card your fingers through his hair, it’s lightly coated in dirt but not too bad. He sighs softly at your touch, leaning into it. You wonder what he got up to while he was gone. You missed him so much it almost doesn’t feel like he’s really here but the warmth seeping into your back is solid proof.

“You’ve been gone for a week, y’know?” There’s a slight melancholy air to your tone that you can’t disguise. He tenses up and you can’t help but feel bad for kicking him when he’s down like this. “It’s fine, I know you’re busy. I just wish you’d call.” Jinwoo tightens his hold on you as if you’ll wither away at any moment.

”I was inside a system gate, I’m sorry my love, I didn’t intend to be away for so long.” The stupid fucking system, sometimes you hate it, you know it saved Jinwoo’s life but sometimes it feels like it’s also trying to take everything he has. It’s taken large chunks of his emotions, he’s had to fight to regain some sense of some of them. It’s taken his time away from his family, his normal life, and one day you fear it’ll take him away from you entirely. It’s just some kind of game after all.

You pull yourself away from that line of thought. ”Like I said s’fine. I used your black card, so we’re even… sorta.” You pause for a moment, before explaining further, “It’s a gift from both of us to my mother, her birthday is next week.”

He sighs into your hair before kissing your head, “My love, you can use that for whatever you want. I don't care. I would actually prefer you do.”

”Yeah well…” The thing is, you still flinch when pulling it out, the concept of spending money scares you. After spending so many years where you and Jinwoo’s family barely scraped by, it's a hard feeling to shake. “Anyway that’s not important, you seem tired. Why don’t we sit, hm?” He doesn’t fight you, seemingly content to let you guide him to the couch. Once in a while he doesn’t argue when you try to get him to sit down for two seconds and it’s a fucking blessing but you don’t suspect it’ll last long. 

Sitting him down on the couch you take a step back to assess the damage while he leans his head back and closes his eyes. His legs are spread wide and his arms are sprawled across the back of the couch, he seems exhausted. He’s notably tired and visibly frustrated, you assume he’s annoyed with having been injured. There seems to be blood on his shirt, you wonder if it’s his, but hope not. Most glaringly his face is busted to shit. His nose seems to have some dried blood under it, he clearly scraped his cheek and it looks like he has a black eye forming. Not to mention he’s absolutely filthy, but otherwise okay. Smiling crookedly you step between his open knees, placing one hand on the back of the couch for balance as you lean over him and place a whisper of a kiss on the corner of his mouth. You miss intentionally to get his attention then start to pull away in tease.

“Mm, do it right.” He snakes a hand behind your head and brings you back in. Pulling you into a soft kiss that clearly resonates ‘I’m home, sorry I was gone, I’m here now.’ It’s an I love you in its own right. 

You kiss him softly for a few moments before pulling away just enough to whisper, “Let's take a shower.��

He huffs a laugh against your lips, “That bad?” 

“Well you’re covered in blood for one... But I’ll wash your back so don’t worry about it m’kay?”

”You don’t have to do that,” Jinwoo says, gently tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah but I want to… Are you saying you don’t want to see me naked?” You reach up and your hand captures his mid-air. You press it to your cheek and he strokes your skin with his thumb.

Jinwoo shakes his head in defeat, ”Hard bargain.”

”I’m known for those,” you grin.

He pulls you in for another kiss, this one heavier than the last but still airing on the soft side. It’s wet and hot but slow, no real sense of urgency behind it. When you part he bumps his nose against yours, “You’ll let me cook after?”

”You’re injured so that’s gonna be a no, but you can cook tomorrow. Make me breakfast in bed or something.”

”I can do that,” he says with absolute seriousness. 

”That was a joke.”

”No, you’ve put the idea in my head now, I’ll think of it as a quest.”

”Oh shut up.” You’re laughing regardless, maybe the system is good for something once in a while. You offer him a hand and you swear to yourself that you’re fully prepared to pull him off the couch but you know you aren’t that strong, he’s deceptively heavy. Your hand stays offered anyway and he takes it mostly just for the sake of touching you, getting up entirely of his own right. He holds it for a few seconds, squeezing it gently once, and then lets go before striding towards the bathroom. You note that he walks away with far too much grace and ease for an injured man. For fuck’s sake the guy could at least pretend to be phased. It seems like he took his two seconds on the couch and now he’s good. Shaking your head you follow him, pulling your sweater and shirt off in one movement behind his back; maybe you can at least surprise him a little. You slip your shorts and underwear off much the same way, struggling a little to not make noise or stumble in your walking as you do so. All that’s left is your stupid little over the knee socks because your legs get unbearably cold but pants were the devil's invention. You have no way to take those off easily but that's okay, you suspect he won’t mind. 

You say nothing, letting him flick the light on to the dressing room and turn back to you on his own. Jinwoo’s about to say something but as he sees you he pauses hard, completely short circuiting for a moment. You have to hold it together at the slack-jawed look on his face. 

“Hi,” he says stupidly, fully acting as if he’s never seen you naked before. You lose your battle, as his response makes you bust out in a fit of giggles. 

“Hi, baby- You good?” 

“Yeah…” Jinwoo says, dazed, “I just forget how lucky I am.”

”Alright smooth talker…” you roll your eyes, you really don’t think you’re all that special; especially not when he has celebrities and S-rank hunters with their eyes on him. He seems to know what you’re thinking so he grabs your hand, dragging you further into the dressing room. You toss your clothes near the washing machine and let him pull you along. He pushes you against the sink and boxes you in. You don’t even have to meet his eyes to know he’s looking at you with that intensity that you fell in love with. 

He seems to struggle with his words for a moment, you know he’s not always the best at fully expressing himself these days, it’s okay you can wait. Eventually Jinwoo lets out a soft breath and says, “I love you.”

You blink at him, wide eyed. He doesn’t say that much, he shows it in other ways, but he rarely says it. You smile softly, reaching up to caress his cheek for a moment, “I love you too.” 

He captures your lips as soon as the words are out of your mouth; this kiss is different from your last. It’s wetter, harder, Jinwoo slips his tongue into your mouth quickly. He slides an arm behind your back and pulls your hips flush, your bare cock rubbing against his pants, it forces a moan out of you. The sound seems to get lost in between your lips but the way his grip tightens means he heard it just fine. His other hand grabs your thigh and hikes it up so you’re left resting in his hands lest you want to balance one leg alone. You know he’s insanely strong but it always makes your cock throb when he lifts your full weight like it’s nothing. Then as if hearing your thoughts he uses his grip on your back and thigh to lift you onto your toes so you truly have to rely on his strength alone, unable to support yourself in any meaningful way. His injuries are momentarily forgotten by you as you’re too busy whining into his mouth and gripping tightly at his shirt. 

Thankfully things shift and it’s his turn to moan when his hand adjusts itself on your thigh and comes in contact with your stocking. You can’t help the small bit of laughter that bubbles from your lips, forcing you to pull away from the kiss.

Surprisingly, Jinwoo speaks before you can, “Remind me to get you more of these…” He plays with the hem of your stockings, they begin to slip down past your knee a bit and his breath catches ever-so-slightly. “They’re good.”

”You’re so ridiculous.”

”I’m a simple man.” 

“Yeah baby, I’ve noticed.”

Jinwoo doesn’t bother with a retort, opting to kiss you instead. You let him kiss you breathless for a few minutes until you pull away and mumble against his lips, “You’re wearing far too many clothes.”

”I can fix that,” he mumbles back. He seems loath to pull away from your lips, kissing you again and grinding his hips against your bare cock, almost certainly just to hear you moan.

He pulls away, setting your leg down gently and gives you a second to find your balance before he steps away, pulling his shirt over his head as he moves. You usually try not to boost his ego too much but you find your eyes raking down his chest regardless. He smirks and you roll your eyes, caught red handed you guess. He does seem to have a blossoming bruise on his ribs but no blood so that’s good at least; it must not have been his. Jinwoo shucks off the rest of his clothes and you pointedly don’t watch just to avoid giving him the satisfaction.

When he’s done he moves back into your space and you hum, thinking about what you want to do; this is supposed to be about him after all. If you give this man an inch he’ll take a mile. You can’t let him take control, he'll aggravate his injuries for certain. Instead of letting him pin you to the counter again you take his hips gently and spin the two of you around. When you push him against the counter he raises his eyebrow, curious enough to let you do as you will. 

It’s then that you sink to your knees, glad for your socks, you’re sure your legs would be freezing otherwise. You hear Jinwoo suck in a sharp breath and you hold back a smile. Instead you lick your hand, letting a dollop of spit fall out of your mouth into your palm before you take a hold of Jinwoo’s cock. He hisses as you begin to stroke him slowly, twisting your wrist every so often, bringing him to full hardness. Occasionally you swipe your thumb over the head but largely you stay away from any movement that could really bring him to the edge. Instead you choose to pepper his hips and thighs with kisses. 

He whines a little, “You- hah- you're being mean…”

“Oh?” you hum, your tone lifting in a way that makes Jinwoo stiffen.

“No- You're not mean. You're not mean I didn't-”

“Baby if you want me to be mean-” your hand lightly squeezes the base of his cock right before you lean forward and give the head a small kiss. His hips jerk a little but it's a miniscule reaction in comparison to the moan that's torn from his chest moments later when you properly wrap your lips around his cock. 

“Please, please-”

You pay him no mind, instead taking care to suck slowly and softly at the head of his cock. Sounds of distressed pleasure spill from Jinwoo’s lips as he contorts over you. You pull off of him with a pop and sigh in mock disappointment.

”Baby you’re going to hurt yourself. You’re injured!”

“I can fix that! Will you stop fucking with me please and thank you-“

You bite him unkindly high up on his inner thigh to which he jerks again. “You want me to take care of you! You came slumping back to me after you got your ass beat so sit there and be good! Stop bitching and maybe I’ll be nice to you, fucking hell.” You know that’s not true but sometimes being mean to him is the only way to get him to shut the fuck up.

”Yes, dear.” He drags a hand down his face, acting resigned to his fate as if he’s not about to get his dick sucked. 

You eye him dubiously, usually you love his spirited nature, but right now you’d much rather he just relax, he never does that these days.

You wrap a loose hand over his cock and stroke it gently, the barely there pressure a tease of a touch more than anything. “Jinwoo…” you coo softly, your fingertips running up his cock lightly, “Will you let me take care of you? Pretty please?” you ask nicer this time, trying to soften him up to the idea of not pushing himself for fucking once.

Jinwoo sighs in that way he always does when he’s about to tell you no, so you lean forward lick a stripe up his cock before taking the head in your mouth and swirling your tongue over the tip. He takes a shuddering breath and seems to pause in his answering so you pull off and plead again, “Please, baby? I like taking care of you, you know I do. Let me?” You don’t waste time before putting your mouth back on his cock, he hasn’t even answered yet but you need to keep him in your good graces. Is this a little manipulative? Definitely, but god forbid this man be kind to himself so maybe you need to take drastic measures. 

“Okay- okay, you win-” he concedes, voice a little strained, hands gripping tightly at the counter. That was actually easier than you thought it would be. You wonder if he’s wound up after a whole week in a system dungeon, doesn’t time pass differently there? You can’t remember. Regardless, you'll do what you can to help. 

  You hum around his cock, delighted due to his obedience, happily taking him deeper into your mouth in turn. The weight of his cock on your tongue feels good almost too much so. Sometimes you wonder if you’re a little too far gone for this man. Sitting with half of him in your mouth for a moment, the rest of his cock in your hand, you wonder what kind of face he’s making. Is he finally being patient? He’s stopped bitching at least. All that you hear from him is heavy pants as you begin to bob your head. He whines a little as you rub circles into his hip with your thumb, a silent plea for him to not buck his hips. When you’re pretty sure you’ve gotten the message across you take his cock down to the base. It invades your throat and you struggle with its size, trying desperately to accommodate and not pull off entirely. Jinwoo gives a choked moan and pride surges through you despite your current struggle.

You must accidentally dig your nails into Jinwoo’s hip as suddenly there’s a hand on the back of your head holding you there. “Shh, it’s okay you’re doing amazing,” he says, panting slightly, “When you pull back breathe through your nose. You know how to do this, you’re almost there, just relax.” You squirm under his hold a little, not because you want him to let go, it’s the opposite really. His sweet words flood heat to your stomach and you’re reminded very quickly that you’re not wearing any clothes when your cock throbs. You manage to further relax your throat, but you get to a point where you absolutely need to breathe so you tap his leg and he lets go of your head. You pull back slightly, making sure to keep half of him in your mouth while you take a breath, before taking him back into your throat. You gag around him a bit, drool sliding down your chin faster than before. 

“Can I grab your hair- please-“ he begs, voice strained. 

You take a moment to suck on the tip of his cock before pulling off entirely, “Mhm, go for it. You can move my head around if it would help you feel good, I know it’s been a while since I’ve done this…” Not that that’s your fault, he never fucking lets you, always too determined to fuck you within an inch of your life. 

“I- You’re doing perfect I just…” you raise an eyebrow at him, Jinwoo never gets this embarrassed you wonder what it could be. 

“If there’s anything-?” You want him to feel good. 

“Can… I cum on your face?” You hum in faux contemplation, you’re going to say yes but it feels good to see him stare at you longingly, eyes blown wide, red splotching his cheeks. 

“You wanna mark me? That it?” You stroke his cock slowly, it twitches in your hand, how delightful. 

“Yeah,” he says, nearly choking on the word. 

“Mm, sounds nice. Go ahead baby, take what you need.” You say sweetly, taking a steadying breath before you take the tip of his cock into his mouth. Barely a moment later he grabs a fistful of your hair and shoves your head down onto his cock entirely, forcing himself into your throat. You gag harshly and a loud moan escapes him, echoing through the room. With one hand on his hip to steady yourself, your other hand sneaks down to your own cock, finally granting yourself some relief. You fist your cock and tug at it harshly, now that you’re finally touching yourself you’re unwilling to build up slowly; you’ve been waiting long enough. Jinwoo uses your mouth not aggressively but it’s forceful enough to make you gag on every thrust, tears streaming down your face.

“F-fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry…” he chokes out, tightening his grip on your hair before he pulls you off for a second. “Breathe.” You take a few harsh gasping breaths, then he guides it back into your mouth and quickly shoves your head down; breaching your throat once again. This time he doesn’t pull your head off, he keeps you there, squirming. You dig your nails into his hip and tug rapidly at your own cock, twisting your wrist on every stroke, getting more desperate as Jinwoo uses you. You can’t even see him anymore, tears flowing too openly. You fear you must look like a mess. With spit pouring down your chin onto your chest, cheeks soaked with tears, cock spilling precum over your hand; truly this man knows how to reduce you to nothing. You’re glad that Jinwoo seems to be enjoying the show at least. More than enough proof coming in the form of him panting, whines escaping him whenever your throat constricts around him.

Eventually he yanks your head back, tugging at his cock quickly, your spit making his hand slide across his skin with a quick slick sound. You kneel at his feet gasping harshly, your own pleasure paused momentarily. You close your eyes and the sound of his broken moans mingle with your gasping breaths. It fills the air and for a second it’s all you know.

“I-” he starts, just slightly too late, cumming on your face without any real warning. You whine quietly, you love him so much. You wish you could see the blissed out look on his face but you know he wants to look at what he’s done to you for a minute. 

Unable to help it, your tongue pokes out and licks a drop of his cum off your lip, it’s terrible, truly. You don’t mind if it’s him though. Especially because he moans a little at the sight. 

“There’s ah, hold on.” Water runs for a moment and then a warm wet cloth gently dabs at your face, notably your eyelids, he must not have wanted you to get anything in your eye. “You can open your eyes now.”

You blink your eyes open a few times even as he continues to wipe softly at your face, cleaning tears off your cheeks and saliva off your chin. He looks at you intently as he cleans you up, determined to do a good job, he’s too sweet sometimes.

“You didn’t cum,” he says, matter of fact.

Shrugging, “I was more focused on you, I’m not concerned.” You’re hoping he drops it but you suspect he won’t. You will your boner to magically fucking disappear.

“I am,” he insists and you don’t have time to stop him before he moves and drops to his knees beside you.

“You’re injured-ah!” Your protests about his health are cut off when he takes your cock into his hand. He strokes it twice before running his thumb over the tip and you give a choked whimper, bucking your hips. 

Grasping for his wrist you try desperately to pull his arm away as he strokes your cock but you feel weak all over. “You- I can’t- Jinwoo!” As you call his name you fold over, spilling cum over his hand. You sob broken syllables that sound like a mantra of pleas as he continues to jerk at your cock until tears are streaming down your face again. 

When you bat weakly at him he finally lets go of your cock and you lean against him, panting. He presses a kiss to the side of your head and you whine, if he says a single fucking thing about this you swear to god; you'll have to kill him.

“That was faster than usual,” he comments idly, as if talking about the weather. 

“A week! You were gone for a week!” You smack him tiredly, you know it doesn’t phase him at all but it’s the thought that counts. This is why you didn’t want him to touch you, you were entirely too wound up, you knew if he put his hands on you at all you’d embarrass yourself. He sighs and kisses the side of your head again, mumbling an apology into your hair. You sigh in return and nod against him despite the pit it sets in your stomach. You wish he wouldn’t do that now, you hate apology sex, that’s not what this was supposed to be. 

You try to push yourself off the floor only to find your legs weak, man fuck Jinwoo, you hate that guy. Your face goes red as you mumble, “Help me up…” you tack on just for good measure, “And if you laugh I’ll kill you.” 

“Of course, of course.” He stands with a grace that you envy and proceeds to not help you up but instead sweep you up into his arms. You make some vague noises of protest that he ignores and he laughs quietly. He sets you on the counter and kneels to slip your socks off, he really is acting like he’s not hurt at all. You didn’t do much to help, did you? 

You sigh, disappointment filling you, so much for caring for him, things really have changed. He’s going so many places you can’t reach; what are you supposed to do with that knowledge? What will you do the day he doesn’t need you anymore? It feels like that day has already gone and passed and you’re not sure why he keeps coming home to you. 

“You’re getting in your head,” he says from where he’s knelt before you. 

You hum and give a noncommittal shrug, unsure where to even start. Hopping off the counter you softly mumble, “I’m going to shower.” When you shuffle past him you enter the bathroom and make a point to gently close the door behind you, despite the original intention of a shared shower. It’s a quiet sign that you want to be alone. Despite this, he enters a few moments later, once you’ve turned the water on. You sigh, he’s terrible at reading signals, or maybe he just prefers to ignore them. 

”Hey,” Jinwoo starts as he wraps his arms around you from behind, flattening himself against your back. “Did I hurt you?”

There’s no point in hiding it, ”No… yes… it’s not you, I just miss meaning something to you.” He makes a wounded sound that you can hear clearly over the water. It’s surely warm enough by now but his arms tighten around you and you’re unable to step under it, trapped in his hold. 

Resting his chin on the top of your head he asks quietly, “Why would you ever think you don’t?”

You sigh restlessly and pull yourself from his arms, “You know how I used to have a purpose? You would come home beat to shit after a raid and I would take care of you? That doesn’t happen anymore! I even had one job today and I fucked it up! I barely did anything for you! I didn’t even tend to your wounds…” You find yourself breathing heavy, tears beginning to spill from your eyes. You sniffle hard, wiping at them aggressively. Digging the heels of your palms into your eyes you wail your biggest fear, “ I don’t have any use to you anymore!”

He tugs one on one of your wrists, pulling on it gently and persistently, until you let it fall away and look at him. ”You don’t need a use, dumbass. You’re not a tool. You’re the love of my life,” he says it so straight faced you physically reel back, accidentally stepping directly into the shower stream and scaring the crap out of yourself. You jump out of your skin when the water touches you suddenly. Jinwoo has to use his hold on your wrist to pull you into his chest, keeping you from falling. 

Your tears freeze up out of shock, “You don’t have to be mean about it!” You cry, shrilly, “I’m wallowing!” You push off his chest and scrub any remaining tears off your face.

”You’re being stupid!”

”Ouch!” The mood feels worlds lighter, Was that it? Did you really think of yourself only as a tool? You feel like this insecurity won’t go away overnight but at the moment you feel less like you’re drowning so there’s that. Regardless of your lighter mood you sigh, “I still think you should get beat up more often, I like taking care of you.” It’s mostly a joke but there’s a crumb of truth to it, maybe you guys can compromise somewhere. Perhaps he could come home for dinner more often or something, you’ll talk to him about it later.

”That’s…” he pauses for a while before he sighs and goes on, “I didn’t get beat up.” He rubs the back of his head, a nervous tick he’s never quite kicked. “I tripped leaving the system gate. Busted my face on a pile of rocks if you can believe it…” He can’t meet your eyes, looking anywhere else as his face goes quickly red.

You blink at him, wide-eyed, “No fucking way…”

He groans as if he’s dying, ”Do you think I would make that up for fun?”

You can’t help it, laughter bubbles out of your throat and escapes you in uncontrollable bursts. You can’t breathe, you’re going to die, holy shit there’s no way. Oh man, you shouldn’t be laughing at him like this but it’s just so human. 

You have tears in your eyes as you tell him, “I love you so much- you are so uncool.”

Jinwoo’s head whips towards you, cheeks still red, “Says the guy who-” 

You nearly choke on your words trying to get them out faster than he can, “Do not finish that sentence!”

He holds up his hands in surrender before scratching at his chin, “You know… I thought it was kinda cute.”

You turn away quickly, padding over to mess with the water temperature, “What was that? I can’t hear you over the water!” 

Jinwoo silently comes up behind you, which shouldn’t even be possible with the wet floor, bullying you up against the wall. He boxes you in from behind and speaks into your ear, “If you’re that pent up… How many orgasms do you think I can wring out of you?” You shudder against him and open your mouth to speak but only a whine comes out when he places a loose hand on your throat. Not to choke, just resting there and feeling your pulse more than anything. “Let me take care of you this time, hm?”

“Hah- Jinwoo-” you whine. This man fights dirtier than anyone you’ve ever met. Maybe you can’t say anything, you did the same shit earlier, turnabout is fair play and all. 

[lisbeth-kk]

Continuing the May prompts with a letter story. Thanks for the tag @calaisreno

Healing letters

After grieving Sherlock for months, John decides to write down his feelings, just like his therapist, Ella, advised him to. First he tries to actually write. Physically. It’s too strenuous. He’s not used to writing by hand anymore. Besides the pages more often than not, gets soaked from his dripping tears, and the ink gets smeared all over the paper.

He'll use the blog, but he’ll disable comments. Although he does it for his own sanity, it may help the few friends he’s got to understand what he’s going through. He hasn’t exactly been socialising since Sherlock jumped off that roof, and he rarely answers his phone. 

He wants it to be a system to this. Each blog post will have its own topic. If not, John’s confident it’ll be just him babbling, not even making sense to himself. Today he feels a bit less depressed, and he can start with the anger.

I’m so angry with you, Sherlock. How could you kill yourself in front of me? Making me witness my best friend jump off a building to his death. Did you think I wouldn’t mind? That I wouldn’t grieve you just because I was pissed with you when I left you? You, the most observant man who’s ever walked the earth. How could you not know, you meant the world to me? What do you think it was like talking to you when you stood up there? I heard the tears in your voice, and you must’ve heard my despair as well. When I saw you lying at the pavement, my life ended too, you know. My whole world shattered. You were taken away before I could say a proper goodbye. How do you think that made me feel, Sherlock? Damn, you!

John’s mentally exhausted after posting the entry. He’s shaking with anger against Sherlock. Without giving it a second thought, he grabs his jacket and heads out to get some air. He walks quickly wherever his feet carries him. He doesn’t care much, and he must look quite intimidating, because other pedestrians are clearly avoiding him.

He makes tea and toast when he gets back. The anger has dissipated a bit. It’s actually liberating to feel something again. For weeks he’s just been numb. Haven’t cared about anything. He startles when his phone buzzes. A text from Molly. He deletes it without looking. She has most likely read the blog entry and wants to comfort him or something. Mike and Greg texts him a few hours later. John deletes those texts too. 

***

A few days later the anger is long gone. Another feeling has emerged in his mind the last couple of hours. His faith in Sherlock. It’s always been there, but never as strong as it is now. Curious, that.

From the first day I met you, I had faith in you, Sherlock. That drug bust at 221B told you that much. Perhaps I put you on a pedestal for a while, come to think of it. Nevertheless, despite all your odd habits, sulks and annoying behaviour, I always believed in who you were. The core of you. Not to flatter myself, but I think I knew you quite well. Perhaps not as well as Mycroft, although he once said that I knew you best of all. All that’s been said about you after you died, makes me believe in you even more. Because I know, Sherlock, that you never were a fraud. You may have shammed and tricked people for a case, but you were never a fake. To the day I die myself, I’ll deny that with everything I’ve got.

Again, John’s mentally exhausted after posting the new entry, but in another sort of way. The adrenaline doesn’t zing through his veins. It’s more like he’s poured out his soul. And in a way he has. He’s never uttered those words to anyone. 

Before the day is over, his phone buzzes with texts from Molly, Greg and Mike. He deletes all of them without reading. This quest is something he wants to execute without input from anyone.

***

A week passes without the urge to write. When the familiar nightmare appears one night, John knows it’s time for another blog post. He had waked screaming Sherlock’s name, seeing him fall from that roof again. His heart pounded like he’d run a marathon and his face was wet from crying, sobbing really.

How did I fail to see that something was amiss, Sherlock? I loathe myself for not observing you more thoroughly. Moriarty clouded my vision. You were so absorbed in his endeavours to get your attention. Flattered maybe, that another genius wanted to play with you. I should’ve seen that his only goal was to destroy you. He said so the first time. At the pool. “I’ll burn the heart out of you.” Whatever he meant by that. He certainly burned the heart out of me, if he had anything to do with your suicide. It must’ve been that. You would never do what you did unless you had no other choice. Am I right, Sherlock? I think I am, which makes it even harder to bear. The thought that if I’d been just a little bit smarter, more alert, less stubborn and angry with you....I might’ve saved you.

John shuts his phone off and drinks half a bottle of whisky after posting that entry, or letter as he’s started to call them. 

***

This will be his last letter. John knows that this also will be the hardest one, and maybe it’ll be the one that starts his healing properly. His grief’s still raw. Some days are better, other worse. This one tip more in favour of the latter.

How much can a man grieve before it destroys him, Sherlock? All I know is that I’ve grieved enough to last a lifetime. That said, I’ll never stop grieving you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. Being in your orbit, saved my life. I was so lost back then, and now I’m even more lost. Because now I know what it’s like to be whole, to have a purpose, to wake every day, feeling excited about what may await me. A new case, a severed head in the fridge, listening to beautiful music from your violin, having takeaway from our favourite places, or dinner at Angelo’s, bantering with you about the lack of milk, or nagging you to eat something. There are so many things that vanished from my life when you died, Sherlock. Are you aware of that? I’m just existing nowadays. The amount of tears I’ve shed could fill the pond in Regent’s Park. I’ve hid them here at Baker Street. Out and about I put on a mask. Motionless. Stony. Speaking of. I’ve only been to your grave once since the funeral. The stone fits you. Polished, black with golden letters. Only your name. No dates or quotes. I talked to you when I stood in front of that stone. Asked you for a favour. To do one last magic trick. For me.

For an unknown reason, John enables comments after this entry, but hours go by, and the comment sections are still empty. Maybe he’d miscalculated people’s interest in him. After all, the readers of his blog were all interested in Sherlock, not in him, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise.

He takes a shower and heads for the bedroom when he hears a sound he hasn’t heard for ages. Someone’s commented on the blog. Probably Molly or Mike. His curiosity gets the better of him, though. The comment is on the last entry.

I heard you. SH

A bit angsty. I can reveal that I shed my share of tears throughout alongside with John...

@totallysilvergirl @notjustamumj @raina-at @meetinginsamarra @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Idk but it bothers me so much when i scroll down the tag of my favourite character only to be hit with negativity, it's something I don't want to see and I really don't understand the need to do that. Like it's funny that I always try to avoid hateful comments, but people keep finding ways to get these hateful messages to the fans... (just in case, I'm not saying this for you, but for Kakashi's haters)

Part of it is people purposefully tagging things with the character name, which as jerks

Part of it is people trying to tag it something like ‘Anti Kakashi’ (for example) and Tumble seperating the two words and using them both as seperate tags in a way

So if someone tags ‘anti Kakashi’ it’ll still end up in the Kakashi tag cuz tumblr’s tagging system is busted

It’s why on the rare Occassion i make something i consider 100% ‘anti ‘instert character’ i tag it something like ‘anti-jiraiya’ or ‘anti-orochimaru’

The stupid lil - stops the tag from being seperated and out into the character tag

[drguptafunctionalcenter]

The Functional Medicine Approach to Sustainable Weight Loss and Metabolic Health

A conventional doctor offers a generalized advice with no specific plan of action or they often outsource the patients to dietitians or healthcare professionals . They might also suggest a number of over-the-counter or pharmaceutical drugs that address various aspects of weight loss, including suppressing appetite or blocking fat absorption. As obesity rates continue to climb, pharmaceutical companies will likely develop new drugs that address this epidemic. What these drug companies and conventional healthcare practitioners often neglect to ask is why someone becomes obese, to begin with. Weight and metabolic Functional Medicine

The body is a wonderfully complex mechanism, and taking a one-size-fits-all approach focused on calories-in-calories-out, reducing dietary fat, and using a drug to address the problem— whatever—overlooks the underlying condition. Overeating might be the reason a patient is obese, but I find something deeper and more complex often creates this condition.

Finally, remember that losing weight is only part of the journey. If you have an underlying issue and are restricting calories and exercising like mad, you could be exacerbating the problem, not solving it. When health is your priority, weight loss will follow as a natural result of healing your body from within.

HOW FUNCTIONAL MEDICINE SOLVES?

Remember, Functional Medicine assesses the root cause of the problem and treats the whole system to quiet and cool the flames of inflammation, leading to weight loss and overall good health.

We have to get healthy to lose weight, not lose weight to get healthy.

What is going on in the body and mind that is causing weight gain or weight loss resistance? The simple fact is that in order to get to your healthy body weight, you have to get healthy. You have to get healthy to lose weight, not lose weight to get healthy. Sustainable weight loss will be a natural byproduct of regaining health. If you get healthy, you will look great….as an awesome side effect!

APPROACHES

POOR GUT HEALTH

Heal your gut to make the most of the food you eat

When we eat food that is poor in quality and nutrient deficient, and we are rarely exposed to the dirt and germs of the world, our beneficial bacteria may be reduced and will be taken over by more pathogenic species. In short, our processed diets and sanitized lifestyles may come with a price tag: more chronic disease and obesity.

Weight gain is often related to an underlying gut problem. your microbiome could be damaged after years of junk food, toxins, stress, and harmful medications, and that is likely influencing your weight and health. Repair the gut mucosa with functional foods like gut-healing bone broth. Use food and natural medicines to correct yeast, fungal, parasitic, or bacterial overgrowth.

A personalized nutrition plan that takes into account individual food sensitivities, nutrient deficiencies, and metabolism can be effective in helping to reduce weight. For example, if a person has a sensitivity to gluten, removing gluten from their diet can lead to decreased inflammation and improved gut health, which can contribute to a healthy weight reduction.

Over time, certain factors may cause low-grade, chronic inflammation that is detrimental to your weight loss efforts. Stress, toxins, gut infections, food sensitivities, and poor nutrition can all play a role in causing low-grade inflammation leading to obesity and other metabolic diseases.

Chronic low-grade inflammation is a silent culprit.it is low enough to give a normal lab value, but just potent enough to wreak slow burning havoc in the background. A vicious cycle ensues as inflammation makes your body cling to fat, which makes you more inflamed.

 TOO MUCH /TOO LITTLE EXERCISE

it may be hard to believe but yes,too much of exercise is a problem. the duration and quality of exercise are equally important.

If you’ve been busting your butt at the gym only to find yourself feeling exhausted, not losing weight, or worse, somehow up a pants size, it’s time to learn why the no-pain-no-gain strategy is holding you back.

When you exercise and get your heart rate up ,your body burns the readily available glucose in your blood stream for energy,after that to keep your energy up your body starts to look for a replacement

It calls on your adrenal glands and they jump into action by pumping out the stress hormone cortisol which converts stored fats usable glucose so you have the energy to keep working out.

If your hormones are already in imbalance the cortisol spike and fat burniong leads to something counter productive.the estrogen overload programs your body to convert the glucose back into fat which deposits in midsection and hips.

So instead of becoming a fat burning machine you become this junk machine which burns sgtored fat due to cortisol  ,then sending the fat back to all the wrong places die to the estrogen surge.

For More Info: functional medicine india

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Peptide Therapy Consultation

[junowritings]

HELLO, DARLING 💕💕 I'm here to bust in and ask for some sweet, sweet Twst fluff! May I have some Ruggie, Azul, and Deuce reacting to thier fem!s/o protecting them in a fight?? Maybe some dude trying to swing at them and their gf gets in the way and protects them! Pls give me the good, much love and you're amazing 💕💕💕💖💖💖

First request! Thank you so much honey I am always happy to provide some peak content~! I had way too much fun with this and it shows lmao but I hope you enjoy~! 💖 💖 💖

----------------

Ruggie

♡ Ruggie’s used to stepping on a few toes and tails with his antics - he’s a little trickster at heart but it’s all in good fun, he swears! It’s just unfortunate circumstances that perhaps one or two people sometimes get caught in the crossfire of his schemes, never anything too serious, but enough to leave more than a few people grumbling about it by the time things actually get sorted back out. Rarely do things ever actually spiral out of Ruggie’s control, and even if they do, chances are no one stays too mad at him for too long...most of the time. The times they do? They tend to get a bit out of hand.

♡ When a group of students attempt to corner him on the way back to the Savanaclaw dorm, he isn’t even sure what’s got them so heated - they start cussing him out, ranting about how he must think he’s such a wise guy, getting so cocky and not knowing his place. He’s not phased by what they say at all, if anything he’s not fussed in the slightest and would probably make a comment about them coming up with something more original if he could get a word in their bickering. It gets tiring real fast, and Ruggie’s looking for an out before these guys have even finished talking.  

♡ Sure, he could use his unique magic in this situation, but given that it would only affect one of them and more than likely piss them off even more in the process, it wouldn’t do much to save his hide right now. Three against one hardly seems like a hard fight, but if Ruggie is even remotely concerned about the odds it doesn’t show for a second, instead - chances are, they’re just gonna yell it out of their system and then storm off so he can go back to what he was doing. Arguably, that just makes them angrier, and soon enough their heated bickering becomes thinly veiled threats, as though they’re trying to rile him up into instigating something - they want a reaction, an excuse to justify starting a fight, but Ruggie’s not naive enough to fall for that trick. 

♡ When he doesn’t, one of the students finally snaps, lunging forward and snagging the collar of Ruggie’s uniform, bunching it up until he can feel knuckles pressed against his throat and he has to tilt his head up to avoid the fist curling underneath his chin. As the other hand rears back, the laid-back smile on his face becomes strained, and Ruggie squares the guy with a pointed stare as though waiting to call their bluff on actually taking a swing. He doesn’t get the chance to find out, as in the next moment the hand’s gone from his collar and Ruggie finds himself looking at the back of a blazer as a new voice joins the scene - one that he recognizes.

♡ He can’t see your face from this angle, but he can hear the hostility in your voice as you square up to the three boys, standing to your full height as you curse them out and order them to back up, asking what the hell they thought they were doing to your boyfriend. And just like that, those three hotheads dissolve into cowering pups right before his eyes, all bumbling words and awkward shifting as they try to talk their way out of the situation they’d been caught red handed in. They’re doing a poor job of it, and you’re clearly not buying it as you fold your arms and fix them with a scowl, taking a step forward as you move to completely shield Ruggie from their view. 

 ♡ Ruggie can count the amount of times someone has actively gone out of their way to protect him on one hand, so the situation is as bizarre as it is entertaining. He feels a smug kind of pride at hearing you declare the word ‘boyfriend’, and hearing the anger in your voice is enough to convince him that it’s for the best to let you handle this whole thing. Still, Ruggie just can’t help but peek over your shoulder as you tear those guys a new one, shooting them a shit eating grin and enjoying the way that their expressions twist into grimaces, pissed but unable to do anything less they risk even more of your rage.

♡ All you have to hear is one of them mention ‘putting him in his place’ for your expression to visibly darken, and all three of them know that they’ve messed up at the sight of your face. You barely even have to feign lunging at them to get all three of them to bolt, just about toppling over each other as they flee down the corridor and round the corner, effectively vanishing from your sight. Even then you wait a beat, listening out for their footsteps until you can’t hear them anymore before you allow the tension to fall from your shoulders. Ruggie thinks that’s the perfect time to chime in, resting his head on the shoulder he was peeking over as he snickers.

♡ “Shishishi~! Did you see the way they ran? Talk about spooked!”

♡ You find yourself chuckling along with him as you look at him out of the corner of your eye, watching his expression carefully before you shift around to fully face him. The first words out of your mouth are words of concern, asking him if he’s okay and if they hurt him in any way. He’s quick to brush off any of your worries, giving you a non-committal shrug and assuring you that he’s fine - he’s dealt with way worse confrontations before, so it’s not skin off his hide now that they’ve scampered off. 

♡ You’re not entirely convinced, he can see it in your face as you regard him - you seem to want to press the question on those ‘worse confrontations’, but after a moment you seem to drop it. Instead, you reach out and attempt to straighten out his collar and tie, though both are still a wrinkled mess by the time you’re finished; even so, Ruggie seems to appreciate the sentiment, and that lax grin from before is back as he slides out of your grip. He’s still gotta get back to the dorm, but it wouldn’t hurt to have company on the way back, if his new ‘bodyguard’ wants to tag along~

Azul

♡ Azul’s no stranger to people’s ire - he’s gained more than a few enemies over time, having his fair share of scorned patrons cursing his name before he’d even enrolled at Night Raven college. He’s learned quickly to gauge whether someone’s just blowing off steam or if they’re a serious threat, and he learned even quicker how to deal with those situations accordingly; after all, it’s bad business if you’re busy being hounded by clients looking for a bone to pick. He’s got countermeasures in play, and a few backup plans if things become too dicey for his liking, but he’s fortunately rarely had to use them barring one or two troublesome incidents thanks to the Leech twins.

♡ Floyd and Jade have, of course, been a big help in handling these little confrontations whenever they arise, having nipped most of them in the bud before they’ve even had the chance to darken the doors of the Monstro Lounge, so there’s been a relative peace in the place when people are there to have a good time rather than try and start fights.

♡ Things come to a head when someone actually manages to slip through into the Monstro Lounge, and Azul comes out of his office to the sound of someone shouting his name in a tone that sets the precedent that this is not going to be a peaceful interaction. He sees their face before they even turn to face him - expression twisted up in anger and hands balled at their side as they glare daggers at the other patrons, as if trying to discern if the dorm leader is sitting amongst them. Azul recognizes them immediately, and, upon realizing that the twins aren’t present in the lounge, rationalizes that it’s up to him to smooth things over before they end up disturbing the other patrons and causing too much of a disturbance. And so he plasters on his most neutral, unassuming smile, and greets the new ‘client’, watching them whip around to face him as he steps forward to talk to them.

♡ Azul already knows what they want to talk about - of course he does - he’s learned to keep track of every face that passes through those doors and his interactions with them. And yet he allows them to talk, and get what they want off of their chest; talking to them like this isn’t going to get them anywhere, and it appears they’re more in the mood for yelling than they are for actually talking. So he allows them to rant, if only to calm them down enough until he deems them rational enough to listen to what he has to say; and after a moment this seems to actually have done the trick, as the yelling soon quiets down in frustrated grumbling, and the eyes once drawn to the scene from nearby tables begin to return back to what had previously caught their attention. That’s when Azul finally speaks, extending an offer to finish this conversation back inside his office - after all, he’s sure they didn’t come here simply to make a scene when there’s a peaceful resolution to be reached, right? 

♡ It’s with that thought in mind that leads Azul to a momentary slip in judgement - turning his back on the troublesome patron and begins to walk back towards his office, expecting them to follow him. Which they do, with a raised fist. He doesn’t hear them storm after him, but what he does hear is the gasps from onlookers as they watch the person in question rear back their hand, fist aiming right for the back of his head. It should have connected - afterall, they were close enough to have landed the hit, but it never comes.

♡ Instead, a sharp shove at his back has Azul’s stumbling, and not a moment later, he’s spinning around to see what’s going on and finds an unexpected sight. The patron’s sprawled out on the floor, cradling their face in both hands and swearing up a storm as they rock back and forth, nursing what looks like a solid hit to the nose. And towering over them is none other than you, blazer discarded and sleeves rolled up to the elbows as you shake off the hit from your hands, winding up your shoulders as you stare daggers down at his would-be attacker. It doesn’t take a genius to discern what’s just happened in the span of just a few moments, but Azul’s suspicions are all but confirmed when you snap at them to just try and punch him again - watch what happens, you dare them.

♡ Anger flashes across the patron’s face, and for a second Azul truly believes that he’s about to watch a brawl break out between this troublemaker and his girlfriend as both make a move to jump the other. Thankfully for all involved, they don’t get the chance to see that show, as not a moment too soon the twins are there to intervene and split it up before any real fight begins. Jade’s hands are on your shoulder, guiding you back gently but firm enough to ensure that he can pull you away from this fight if you try to push the issue; you reluctantly follow him as he backtracks over to where Azul is standing, still grumbling about it under your breath. Floyd, on the other hand, is all too eager to take care of the one still cradling their face, sporting the beginnings of a bloody nose as they’re hoisted up onto their feet and promptly directed to the nearest exit.

♡ Azul makes a note to deal with that person later - though he’s got a sneaking suspicion that the twins are already well on their way to taking care of that in his stead as Jade leaves to rejoin his brother once you’re standing face to face with their dorm leader. For now, he turns his attention to you, watching you huff and rub idly at the hand you’d punched with as the beginnings of an apology tumble from your lips. 

♡ You didn’t mean to get involved and cause so much of a scene, but when he’d turned away and you saw the person rearing back to sock him, you were up from your table and swinging without a second thought. You couldn’t just sit there and let him get hurt, what kind of girlfriend would that make you if you did! You’d never let him get hurt as long as you were around - that was okay...right?

♡ The passion behind your voice is enough to convince him that you mean every word, and you can see his expression soften a little as he takes your hand into his own, thumb brushing over the scuffed skin of your knuckles, red marks becoming visible as a testament to the force behind your punch. Your expression twitches with a flash of discomfort - looks like you’d underestimated the force on your hand; Azul’s not surprised, going above and beyond was a penchant of yours that had gotten you this far, and perhaps what had led to you worming your way into his heart in the first place.

♡ At your expression, Azul gives your hand a pat before taking a step back, using the hold to guide you. He certainly doesn’t mind the protective streak - in fact it’s a rather endearing trait, one that deserves proper compensation in return. But the first order of business is getting that hand tended to, and Azul makes that his priority as he leads them to follow him to his office, pleased when you fall into step with him and follow his lead. 

Deuce

♡ Honestly, with how much of a protector can be over his friends, Deuce is in desperate need of someone just as willing to square up for him. He takes their safety seriously, even though part of him knows that realistically they can all take care of themselves just fine if anything actually happened. That still doesn’t stop him from wanting to step in whenever things get dicey, especially whenever it comes to you or your friends, and that either becomes a sweet sentiment, or the bane of your existence depending on how many altercations this ends up dragging him into.

♡ Maybe it's because of this that a fight was bound to break out sooner or later, but for what it’s worth, this one wasn’t actually caused because of him - it was because of Grim. That feline had a habit of breaching people’s boundaries, and sure enough it was just a matter of time before things escalated into a fight before anyone even had a chance to figure out what had even happened. Deuce wasn’t around when it happened, but the sound of yelling had caught his attention and led to him looking into the passing hallway trying to figure out what was going on. He recognized some of the voices, he swears it, and sure enough he finds the owner of those voices right in the center of the hallway, a small circle of people getting into each other's faces.

♡ Both sides are yelling, and at the sight of Ace and Grim smack-dab in the middle of the bickering, Deuce finds himself getting in-between them if only to get the one guy waving his hands around away from his friends before someone got slapped. Almost immediately there’s a hand in his face, an accusatory finger jabbed in his direction as all that anger at his friends is now squared directly on him. Deuce feels himself getting angry the more this guy screams into his face, cutting him off every time Deuce tries to get a word in; it’s clear that he’s not going to get any answers from this guy any time soon, so he calls to his friends behind him, ignoring the shout of ‘Hey, don’t ignore me!’ directed at him as he does so.

♡ Deuce looks away for a second, talking to Ace over his shoulder to try and find out what started this whole thing in the first place, when he feels someone grab a fistful of hair and yanks. Pain blossoms through his scalp and he hisses, a hand flying up to snag the wrist of the guy and wrenching it forward, digging his fingers in to force him to let go only for the hand to grip tighter. There’s another sharp tug, and Deuce can see Ace and Grim diving forward to help him from the corner of his eye, their shouts of protest only seeming to anger the guy more as they round in on him.

♡ But someone else gets there first, and just like that the hand is being wrenched from Deuce’s hair and he hears something go sliding across the floor. Turns out it’s the guy, whose expression is a mix of anger and bafflement as he tries desperately to reach for something behind him - no, someone. There’s a hand wound into the back of the guy’s blazer, hoisted up enough that he has to arch to go along with the item of clothing. The guy tries to reach behind him, but every time another hand peeks out from behind him to swat it away with ease, eliciting frustrated whines when the guy realizes he’s stuck.

♡ Deuce’s face must be priceless as he takes in the scene, watching a familiar head duck out from around the guys shoulder and flash him a grin, giving him a thumbs up. He hadn’t even seen you in the crowd, did you jump in when you saw him getting hurt? A part of him feels bad that you’d seen it happen in the first place, but that’s soon quashed when you turn your focus back to the guy who’d swung, who by this point had lost the gumption to keep swinging and was now just waiting for you to release your grip.

♡ You give it a few more seconds for good measure, before you allow your hold to loosen and you step away, still giving the guy a cautious glance as you move to stand in front of Deuce, Ace and Grim in a protective stance. There’s a beat of tenseness, waiting to see if the fight is going to start back up again, but when the group starts backtracking, retreating to who knows where else, it’s clear that at least for now things have been resolved. And with that out of the way, you turn your attention back to the boys, sticking Grim a pointed stare as you huff out that you’re talking to him about this later. 

♡ Then you turn your focus over to Deuce, and he immediately straightens up under your attention waiting for some kind of comment about the confrontation, or maybe a warning for him to be more careful. You take his face into your hands, and though confused, he follows along with your movements as you urge him to look down; he doesn’t know what you’re doing until he feels a hand smooth through his hair, easing the tousled hair back into place as you ask him if it still stings. Your tone is soft, and Deuce finds himself flushing as he hurriedly reassures you that it doesn’t hurt - it’s fine, really! You’re not entirely swayed, but the moment is broken when you hear Grim make a gagging noise telling you to stop being so weird. And just like that your attention is back onto Grim again, fully prepared to choke him with that damn bow as Deuce straightens back up, carding a hand through his hair and trying to will away the pink flush beginning to rise to his cheeks.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Different” (Rated G)

Summary: Sebastian tries to cheer up a melancholy Kurt, heartbroken by all of the changes the pandemic has brought about in their home rink. (1341 words)

Notes: I had plans of writing pandemic fics in all of my verses, so this is the start of that. This one-shot includes a callback at the end to 'Blessing the Ice in Westerville' so if you don't remember that one, you may want to go back and read it first ;)

Part 66 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

"Whatcha thinking?" Sebastian asks, plowing to a stop. He slides onto the bench beside Kurt and gives him the chastest peck in the universe behind his right ear. 

Cockblocked by his mask, it's the best he can do. 

Kurt misses his boyfriend's warm lips on his chill skin, but he smiles because there's something so sweet and dorky about it. Sebastian can tell he's smiling - the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkling and the bridge of his nose scrunching. 

But it doesn't make him look happy. 

It's rare as hell to find Kurt sitting it out in the penalty boxes. He loves skating more than life. He needs to go, go, go - moves in the field, practice his routine, help a wall-walker find their way without their hands creeping along the boards. The entire time Sebastian has known Kurt, he's probably seen him sit for a grand total of fifteen minutes.

He's broken that record today.

"You know, almost every time you come to see me, you ask me what I'm thinking," Kurt says, stalling for a moment before he has to come clean. "Am I that much of an enigma?"

"Yes," Sebastian answers accompanied by an exaggerated nod of his head like a trained horse doing math. Kurt giggles. They've joked numerous times about how ridiculous everyone is going to look when they can finally eschew their masks with how vehemently they nod and emote with their eyes. It's going to look like living in an anime for a while until everything returns to normal.

Kurt sighs. 

If it ever does return to normal.

Sebastian rests a hand on Kurt's knee and gives it a squeeze. "Come on, babe. I know there are some deep thinkery things going on in that head of yours. Let it out."

Kurt leans to the side and settles against Sebastian's body but his eyes never leave the ice. It's a relatively busy day at the Westerville Ice-plex, the rink filled to capacity. But because of restrictions, that means there are only twenty people on the ice, including him and Sebastian. On a Thursday afternoon, they would usually see closer to fifty kids and a handful of coaches, EZ skaters and Bobby seals zipping around treacherously like Mario cart vehicles. With the rink packed, the talking and laughter would drown out the music.

"Things are so different," Kurt says. 

"I know," Sebastian agrees.

"We were lucky over quarantine. Me and you and Blaine had your rink to train in every day - rain or shine. Things didn't change for us all that much training-wise. But for everybody else, skating was impossible. It didn't even get cold enough this winter for my pond to freeze over so anyone who was relying on an ODR was SOL." Sebastian snorts and Kurt chuckles, the laugh they share more melancholy than amused. It fades quickly. "So many of our skaters had dreams of going to the Olympics. But they canceled Nationals, and then Worlds, and now... " Kurt's eyes trail the progress of a few freestyle skaters struggling with elements they had mastered six months ago. "It's heartbreaking to see them derailed."

Sebastian puts an arm around his boyfriend and hugs him. "Well, if you're looking for a silver lining," he starts in an iffy tone, "with the number of rinks that got shuttered over lockdown, Beiste is going to be up to her bushy eyebrows with business. This place is never going to close."

"And whereas that's good news for the Ice-plex, think of all the kids who have to give up skating because their rink closed down and they can't travel here."

"Yeah... uh... " Sebastian clears his throat "... I only thought about that after I said it."

"This pandemic changed everyone's forward momentum," Kurt continues, giving his boyfriend a pass. "We have pair skaters that have split up, Disney on Ice canceled auditions so that dream is busted for a few seniors, Blaine told me that the synchro and performance teams at his old rink are both no more... it's not fair."

"No, it's not fair."

"I just wish there was something we could do."

"I know." Sebastian sinks into his boyfriend, mourning the loss of Kurt's hair against his cheek with his mask keeping the two of them apart. He wants nothing more than to fix this for Kurt, bring things back to the way they were and put everyone back on track, but the only thing Sebastian is good at in the way of problem-solving skills is throwing money at things and, ironically, as rich as his family is, they don't have the kind of money necessary to solve this. 

In cruel, corporate terms, the pros do not outweigh the financial risks.

It's not just that missing out on months of steady business dropped rinks into the red. A lot of them were poorly managed. Shutting their doors revealed problems these facilities didn't admit they had - rotting pipes, faulty wiring, cooling systems holding on only because of the ice and grime that had built up inside them. Once the condensers were shut off to conserve energy, whole units fell apart.

And, as it turns out, they cost an arm and a leg to repair, not to mention replace.

If the Westerville Ice-plex was in danger of closing, Sebastian would talk his uncle into handing over a blank check. Unfortunately, they can't do that for everyone.

"I think the best thing we can do is focus on here and now," Sebastian says. "What can we do inside these walls to make things better, even if it's just for the next half hour or so?"

"Do you have any suggestions?" Kurt asks. "Because, for the moment, I'm tapped."

"Well... " Sebastian starts, drawing the word out, hoping brilliance comes to him "... one of the reasons I spent so much time here even though I have a facility of my own was because of my friends. We used to horse around, make up routines, compete with one another, race each other down the ice..."

"Okay, but there are strict rules against horseplay now."

"I'm not talking about roughhousing. I mean the stuff we used to do with the kids in skate school to make it fun. Things that we can do while staying six feet apart. I mean, everyone here loves us... "

Kurt snickers. "Ah, humility. Thy name is Sebastian Smythe."

"I bet you if we get something started, everyone would join in."

"What do you have in mind?" Kurt asks, recalling the things they used to do with the kids when skate school was still running - blowing bubbles, tossing balls, playing Sharks and Swimmers (which is kind of like tag while fully accepting that, if someone falls, they could potentially spear another player in the leg with their blade).

Sebastian tilts his head, going through a similar list in his mind, trying to come up with an activity that would work with their current crowd. There are mainly regulars on the ice - the freestyle kids daring enough to court possible contamination for the chance to get their Axels back. He follows two girls with his eyes, mirroring one another as they make their way down the ice. 

He gets an idea. 

A hilarious idea. 

"Are we expecting Blaine anytime soon?" he asks, shoving his hand in his jacket pocket and fishing around. Kurt looks around Sebastian's body, checking the time on the scoreboard.

"Yeah. Any minute now." Kurt's head snaps up. He peers suspiciously at his boyfriend's eager face. What plan could Sebastian have come up with that would include Blaine specifically? Is he going to tie him to a goal and have the kids take shots at him again? Thank God for foam pucks is all Kurt can say about that genius plan. "Why?"

Sebastian pulls his key tag out of his pocket and dangles it in front of Kurt's eyes. "Because I do believe it's time to bless the rains down in Africa again."

[ace-of-haerts]

I posted 4,776 times in 2021

24 posts created (1%)

4752 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 198.0 posts.

I added 424 tags in 2021

#gremlin (affectionate) - 111 posts

#personal - 96 posts

#fic rec - 45 posts

#yesh dude - 36 posts

#important - 33 posts

#my boys - 25 posts

#lex buddy - 23 posts

#fic - 22 posts

#eat the food - 19 posts

#here you go gremlin - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 113 characters

#i will marry her and marry you in your future if i don't know her name is a little more then she is the only one.

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

I know you reblogged my tumblr mutual home address thing with “ffs yesh” and “bad” but now I’m tempted to give you my home address just for the meme

I will stab you I swear to god

@chaosgremlin9

Come collect your human

8 notes • Posted 2021-07-10 19:27:26 GMT

#4

I will bite you. As revenge.

No biting. Bad baby

8 notes • Posted 2021-07-27 05:18:03 GMT

#3

Thanks @rockmarina !!

Catch Up Tag

How was your day?

It was alright. Had a few aches and pains, but I went into town and got fancy drinks so it ended well!

What's keeping you entertained these days?

Definitely my cat, Discord, and a bunch of true crime videos on YouTube. And whatever the fuck Supernatural has going on.

If you're in some kind of quarantine/self isolation, is there anything you'd like to achieve in this time?

Not in quarantine, but it is summer break so I'm hoping to get a bunch of work done.

Post a selfie! (if you're comfortable with that)

Have one of my 30 saved picrews instead!

See the full post

9 notes • Posted 2021-07-03 01:05:22 GMT

#2

Imagine an elf is given a job to do at a human institution. The humans think elves don’t need bathroom breaks, since they know they can hold it for days, but this elf has been traveling to reach their job, and has already been holding it to the point they are in pain. They ask for a break, but their job is important and time sensitive, so they admit they can still hold it when asked. After a full day of work, the elf tries to reach the bathroom in time, but they were never told where it is.

Whichever one you this is, what did I do to deserve this.?

12 notes • Posted 2021-07-04 19:45:10 GMT

#1

About Me

Name: Antóin (Ant-o-in) Age: 18 AO3: unlucky_god (bookmarks and recs) Pronouns: he/him Fandoms: Drarry (Heavily fanon, rare to none canon), Sk8, 9-1-1 (Mostly Buddie), and anything I find interesting, I have a small attention span Sexuality: Pansexual

Tagging system: I'm not the greatest at tagging, I only mainly picked up the habit in the last couple months so. All tags listed are frequently used and is updated when needed. Green= resource tags Orange = untriggering Yellow = potentially triggering

#gremlin (affectionate) #yesh dude #lex buddy are my tags where I interact with my buddies Rain @illogicalthinking Lex @chaosgremlin9 Yesh @littlecatsnotkids There's a lot of back and forth here, so no offence taken if you blacklist this or any of the ones below

#my boys #and their son! #buckley siblings or bust #number one dad and son duo #9-1-1 family dynamics #9-1-1 misc. are my Buddie (Buck x Eddie) posts, Buddie & Christopher, Maddie and Buck, Buck & Bobby, 9-1-1 family dynamics, 9-1-1 misc. and other assorted 9-1-1 tags.

#important resources (writers guides, art guides, life hacks, lgbtq resources, chronic illness and disability resources, etc)

#lucky's friends random cat videos and pictures I find to show my cat later

#EAT THE FOOD posts that mention food. this is a newer tag so beware if you're doing a deep dive and have food issues as they aren't all tagged correctly

#prattles by ant tag games, asks, etc.

Please feel free to reach out to me if you feel like my posts need a certain tag. I am always open to advice and actually could use the help.

And as Rain so eloquently put it, DNI if you: If you are an exclusionist of any kind (I.e ace phobic or panphobic), racist, abusive, xenophobic, sexist or anything like that, fuck off you are not welcome on my blog

20 notes • Posted 2021-07-25 10:22:30 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

[carrisarune]

In Your Eyes

Previous | Next

Note: I think this is the fastest I’ve written another chapter, let’s hope this train keeps on going

Tags: @jamespotterthefirst , @schnitzelbutterfingers

CHAPTER 2: FIRST DAY INTO THE FRAY (PART 2)

Despite internally screeching beyond belief, Rai’s face was completely neutral as he gazed at Ethan Ramsey at the other side of the hall.  Taking a breath to calm his mind, Rai turned to Landry, “Hand me your book. If I do this right, I can get you an autograph and settle my impression with Dr. Ramsey” he said. Landry looked at him bewildered but still held out the book.

Before he could say anything else, Rai grabbed the book and marched towards Dr. Ramsey. As he neared, he could see that the doctor had stopped by an elderly patient’s room and her hollering could be heard from outside. Hearing Dr. Ramsey bantering with the patient as he urged her to take her meds, Rai had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. He then saw Dr. Ramsey head to a vending machine. Curiously though, after inserting a dollar bill, he didn’t select anything.

Rai swallowed as he approached the man and tentatively greeted, “Hi, Dr. Ramsey.” The man glanced at Rai before returning the greeting with, “...Rookie” and a short nod of acknowledgement. “Would you be open to autographing a book for a friend?” Rai blurted, mentally congratulating himself while simultaneously facepalming at the bold request. Dr. Ramsey raised a brow, “Autographs? Don’t you have work to be doing? Or at least other attendings to irritate?” he asked, clearly not amused.

Thumbing his bracelet for strength, Rai declared, “At the moment? Just you” mentally praying for mercy as he did. While Rai expected many things for Dr. Ramsey to say, he didn’t expect him to say, “I should have guessed. Well, if you have something else to say, then say it.”

Surprised for a moment, Rai ended up saying, “I wanted to apologize for this morning and say that I won’t let you down. Though, saying it out loud, it does seem rather dumb to promise but…” only to be cut off. “You’re right, it is dumb Rookie. You will let me down. What’s more, you’ll let yourself down. Over and over.” his words were calmly delivered, but they struck at Rai like a knife to the gut. Just as he was about to excuse himself, Dr. Ramsey turned to look directly at him. Frozen as their eyes met, Rai felt his breath catch as Dr. Ramsey continued, “But what matters is that you get back on your feet each and every time, and push yourself to be better.”

Rai couldn’t help but smile as he processed the words before noticing the doctor’s eyes kept flickering at the chocolate bar in the top corner of the vending machine. Deciding not to bring attention to it for now. “That sounds like something I’d have in my message keeper, though I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in that. If you’re looking for something to cheer Barbara up, I know something that could help” he babbled.

Dr. Ramsey smirked in amusement, “I doubt it. Barbara’s even more stubborn than a mule. She refused to take her pills for two days. But be my guest. It’s a hopeless endeavor” he challenged.

Scanning the vending machine, Rai perked as he spotted a pack of Chuckle Gum and selected the item. When the gaudy, multicolored pack of gum popped onto the tray, Dr. Ramsey bewilderedly asked, “What in the hell is that?” Rai picked up the pack with a grin, “You never had Chuckles Gum? They write jokes in the wrapper. Since Barbara complained about being bored, I thought these would help. Go ahead and try it, you can tell me ‘I told you so’ if it doesn’t” he offered.

With a skeptical look, Dr. Ramsey heads back to Barbara’s room with the pack… and soon returns with a perplexed look. “That got her to take her pills. I can’t believe it” he stated in surprise before turning to Rai and asking, “How’d you know it would work?” clearly curious. Rai gave a shrug, “You’d be surprised how the simplest things, even corny jokes can work wonders, especially in this place” he stated, nodding towards the room as they heard Barbara bust out in guffawing. As Dr. Ramsey nodded in acknowledgement, Rai noticed that there was still fifty cents left over from the dollar.

Making his choice, Rai got the chocolate bar. Dr. Ramsey noticed this and asked, “And who is that for” only to be responded with Rai holding out the bar to him. “I noticed you kept looking at it earlier. You know, it’s okay to treat yourself sometimes” Rai told him and as Dr. Ramsey looked at the bar, “...I’ll keep that in mind” he stated. Upon hearing that, Rai grinned before turning to make his leave. Just as he mentally decided to ask for an autograph for Landry again next time, he heard Dr. Ramsey call out, “Wait.”

Rai turns in surprise and sees Dr. Ramsey motioning to the book. He seemed skeptical as he asked, “You said you wanted an autograph for a friend? Not yourself?” the unsaid ‘Why’ hanging in the air. Lifting his left arm, he showed a leather bracelet he wore with a wiggle of his wrist. It was about an inch or two wide with a Celtic knot design on the band and a square metal piece depicting a hawk.

“I have all the important autographs I need right here” Rai stated, chuckling as he saw Dr. Ramsey’s expression of confusion. Tucking the book under his arm, Rai fiddled with the bracelet and showed that the metal piece was in fact a small compartment that held a piece of folded up paper.

Gentle as can be, Rai pulled out the paper and unfolded it before presenting it to the man. On the paper was a cluster of words and signatures in a mesh of languages. With a warm smile, Rai explained, “It’s a family token, a little something to keep messages, reminders or a general memento really.” Dr. Ramsey carefully took the paper to examine it before taking out a pen and scrawling a message. “Another reminder to have then” Dr. Ramsey stated before handing the paper back. Rai tilted his head in confusion before scrambling to hold out the book in silent request.

Dr. Ramsey gave a huff before taking the book to sign. While he did that, Rai peered at the message he had left. Seeing the words, “Don’t let me down” along with Dr. Ramsey’s signature felt like a shock to the system. Rai didn’t know why, but when he tucked away the paper into the bracelet once more, it felt as if the words were burning through the bracelet into his wrist, spreading a tingling warmth throughout his arm. Shaking his head to distract himself from the feeling, Rai nearly missed catching the book tossed to him and was surprised to hear, “Now get back to work Hayashi.” Blinking at Dr. Ramsey, Rai blurted, “You remember my name?” and Dr. Ramsey paused, “...Just paying attention” he stated before making his leave.

When he headed back to Landry and handed back the book, the other male looked shocked beyond belief. “You’re still alive!” he exclaimed before examining his book, “...And I can’t believe it! You got my copy signed! Thank you!” He then squeezed Rai in an awkward hug before releasing him. Rai waved off his thanks before he felt his pager beeping and headed off. He soon managed to head back to Annie to check on her progress. However, things went off rails as Annie suddenly seized and the machines went wild. Rai immediately cried a Code Blue as he performed C.P.R. while frantically waiting for the code team to arrive.

Out of nowhere, he heard his name being called and saw Jackie peering into the room. “Jackie! Where’s the code team?” Rai asked and felt his heart sink when Jackie informed him they were called to another room. He shook his head at that, “That’ll be too late! Help me Jackie, I’m losing her and I don’t know what’s wrong!” With Jackie’s help and explaining the patient’s situation, the two quickly found that an allergy to the antibiotics was the culprit and managed to stabilize the patient.

Just as they were settling the patient, a voice growled, “What in the hell is going on in here Rookie?” and Rai looked up to see Dr. Ramsey glaring at the doorway.

Bowing his head in apology, he explained that Annie was found allergic to the antibiotics he had prescribed. Dr. Ramsey seemed to relax at that and even advised that he be cautious as patients didn’t always know their own allergies. Rai mentally berated himself as Jackie finished stabilizing the patient and only distantly heard Dr. Ramsey commend Jackie while simultaneously showing his doubt in Rai’s abilities. Somehow, his words caused Rai’s bracelet to feel tight against his wrist as he avoided eye contact with either of them and joined in commending Jackie.

The moment she made her exit without a backwards glance, Dr. Ramsey rounded on Rai. With fire in his eyes he growled, “And you… you need to have a long, hard think about whether or not you are ready to be here” warning in his tone, he continued, “It doesn’t matter that it is your first day, or that you’re still learning. Whether this girl lives or dies is on you.” Rai murmured his acknowledgement as he tried to ignore the strange tightening of his bracelet. Just as Dr. Ramsey was raring into his lecture, he was interrupted.

It was a female intern with tanned skin and brunette hair styled into a braid. Apparently a Dr. Toussaint wanted to see Dr. Ramsey urgently. After pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbling about interns under his breath, he left, but not before ordering Rai to have solved the case the next time he saw him.

The moment he left, Rai felt all tension leave him, and with a sigh, stepped out to meet the intern. “Thanks for bailing me there” he told the petite intern and she responded, “No problem! I could hear you being chewed out from down the hall and figured you might need a save.”

Rai grinned and held out his hand, “Rai Hayashi, pleasure to meet you, it was sweet but risky of you to do that” he told her. The intern gave a cheeky grin in reply and shook his hand, “It was worth it. I’m Sienna, or Dr. Trinh. Whatever floats your boat. Besides, us interns gotta stick together right?” she enthused that while the program was tough, it would help to have each other’s back. Enthusiastically agreeing to the sentiment, Rai gave her a side hug and said, “It’s great to meet a friendly face here, I thought the entire place was swarmed with sharks” giving a mock shudder.

“Ugh, sharks are the worst” Sienna agreed, “What’s a fish that kicks butt in a team? Dolphins?” she mused. Rai chuckled and informed her that dolphins were mammals but she waved it off and declared that they would be dolphins together. After agreeing to the sentiment, Rai finds himself invited to a night at a bar the interns hung out at after shift and accepted the invitation with a promise to meet at the atrium should he survive his shift.

Looking back at Annie once more and silently promising to find out what was wrong, Rai then headed off to tend to other patients. However, as his shift dragged on, Annie’s face kept popping in his head along with Dr. Ramsey's words. Combined with the fact that he kept getting lunch plus didn’t really eat much at lunch, Rai was feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Not wanting to fall apart in public, Rai quickly ducked into a supply closet. He then sat cross legged on the floor of the room and began to take deep breaths.

Just as he was on the verge of meditating, he hears the door open and starts. Before he could stand up, he hears a familiar voice say, “I feel like I’m interrupting something” and looks up to see Bryce. ‘’...Just me trying to get a hold of myself” Rai admitted then stood up as Bryce closed the door. Rai soon realized that the breathing only helped a little and he was still trembling. Cursing under his breath, he squeezed his hands together to try and calm himself.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Bryce gazing at him in worry. Trying to lighten the mood, Rai weakly joked, “Funny huh? A doctor trying to treat himself from turning into a ball of feels.” It clearly didn’t work as he could hear the wobble in his voice and he felt both of his shoulders being held as Bryce firmly told him, “Hey, hey, there ain’t nothing wrong with needing to take a breather. You’re not the first stressed out doctor I found in a supply closet today.”

Rai gave a weak laugh at that, “How are you so calm? It’s only been a few hours and I’m already overwhelmed and grappling on what to do about it” he confessed. Bryce gave a hum at that, “Well, it helps that I have amazing self-assurance” he gave a mock flip of his hair, “Which you can have as an option, or… ride it out” he offered. Rai went silent at that before taking a deep breath, holding it, then slowly letting it out. “Right, it’s only the first day and we all know this isn’t the easiest job to be in, I just… gotta be easier on myself” Rai hyped himself and slowly smiled as he saw Bryce nodding in encouragement.

Bryce patted his shoulders and asked, “Feeling better?” When Rai nodded he grinned, “Good. Because I’d hate to lose you so quick.” Processing the flirt, Rai gave a snort before playfully shoving at him, “Nice try” he teased before murmuring his thanks and heading out the door.

Later, Rai had just gotten another blood sample to run more tests for Annie and was sending messages to Aurora for updates. All the while his mind kept running through different possibilities and solutions. The moment he entered another hallway and paused, he realized he had gotten lost again and groaned. As if to further mock him, his mind briefly produced the Scooby-doo chase soundtrack before he shook it off. He looked around and spotted an intern in a wheelchair heading towards him.

Recognizing him from orientation, Rai smiled and gave a wave. The intern smiles back and greets, “Hey! It’s Hurricane M.D.! You know, cause you basically blasted past everyone” making Rai laugh. “Yeah, well, I don’t think Dr. Emery wanted any more attention than necessary. You can call me Rai” he relayed, holding out a hand for a shake. The intern accepted it with a grin, “I’m Elija Greene. Nice to officially meet you,” he nodded to the sample Rai was holding, “You know where you’re heading with that sample?” he asked and Rai slumped.

He scratched his head and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have a map of the place do you? I’m completely lost” shrugging helplessly as he did. Elijah seemed relieved to hear that as he also admitted, “Sorry man, I thought I was the only one”

The two joked and bonded over being lost and being dropped into the unexpected when they met an old woman who offered to help them. After accepting her help, Rai came to learn that her name was Mrs. Martinez and that she was a long term patient of the hospital who knew everyone. Rai found her rather witty and if what she did with her gown indicated anything, had a mischievous streak.

When he went over her advice in his mind though, it felt as if a lightbulb clicked in his head. Practically slamming the button for his floor and bidding a quick goodbye to Elijah, Rai rushed his way to Annie’s. On the way, he sent a quick message to Aurora and made a request for Dr. Ramsey to be at Annie’s room. Once in Annie’s room, he decided to chat with her while waiting for Dr. Ramsey and checked on his messages. It looked like Aurora hadn’t seen the message yet and had something going on.

Rai had just tucked away his phone when Dr. Ramsey made his entrance. Knowing he could no longer wait for Aurora, presented his findings to the attending. After reassuring Annie with her treatment, Rai stepped out with Dr. Ramsey to discuss the prescriptions. The moment he revealed that he had already printed out the prescription on the case Rai failed, Rai felt his mind immediately war between rationality and cold fury. Folding an arm behind his back to dig his nails into his palm, Rai mentally grit his teeth and took a breath.

Unknowingly, Rai’s eyes took on a hard edge as he formally stated, “I thank you for the learning experience Dr. Ramsey, but I have no need for opportunities over the need to see my patient better” digging his nails harder in order not to glare, he continued, “If you have a solution next time, I would be open to you sending it in first and confirming my findings, please.”

For a moment, a flash of surprise crossed Dr. Ramsey’s eyes and he was silent. Then, he nodded, “Understood” he acknowledged, “But know this, you showed potential. Not to mention, maybe the most important trait a doctor can have.” Rai blinked and tilted his head in clear inquiry. Dr. Ramsey elaborated, “You listened. You took the time to get to know your patient. Their story, their hopes, their fears… Sometimes, those are the keys to saving one’s life.” and Rai felt all tension leave at that. Hearing those words, Rai could feel his wrist turn warm.

The moment he unclenched his hand behind his back, he saw Aurora rush in, clearly having run from somewhere. Quickly stepping in front of her he cried, “Dr. Emery! I hope you’re alright. I’m sure you were discussing an important case and must have missed my messages” he gave an amicable grin, “I’ll make sure to send a copy of all my findings and hope we can review them together next time. I’m sure you got plenty on your plate so I’ll go ahead and submit this prescription to be processed, good evening Dr. Ramsey” he nodded to the man before making his leave. All the while his mind chanted in a sing song tone, “(Deflect, deflect, deflect! Deflect like you life depends on it~)

“Man, I need a drink” he muttered as he walked through the halls and prayed he didn’t get lost.

[thistangledbrain]

Day 19 & 20!

Day 19 - “I hate it when...”

As you’ve gleaned from prior posts, I hate it when you forget autism is a developmental disorder and not an intellectual one. We are so. Fucking. Tired. Of being treated as lesser, or like we don’t understand what you’re saying to us.

Outside of the reactions to others’ behavior, though, I have some personal “I hate it when”...I’ve let you into my mind and told you what I appreciate about how my brain works, but there are things I don’t like, for sure.

I hate that personal stressor things trigger a toddler-like need to SHUT DOWN. Like writing this blog, for example...the vulnerability I feel usually leads to a need to go to sleep for a long time, once I’m finished. Or after a long day socializing. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to engage my brain anymore, I just need to shut all systems down and sleep. Especially if there’s been a meltdown (meltdown—->shutdown)...and oh boy do I hate meltdowns. They’re really rare, thank dog.

I hate that my executive function is an absolute bag of ass. This is probably the biggest thing I would change. It got infinitely worse when my disability got bad (EDS), for some reason. And it drives me up the damn wall.

I hate my low function days/moments. It’s like my brain just won’t kick into gear, or the gears and wheels are rusty and grinding, & it’s rather anxiety inducing. I usually “hide” on my low days, sometimes in my darkened bedroom, and watch favorite shows or movies, or get lost in a good book - if I can. On low days I find myself re-reading crap constantly because it’s not making any sense, so I’ll even avoid complicated recipes...I have no idea why these days/moments happen, but boy do they piss me off/make me anxious (that’s kind of the same thing for me. My anxiety nearly always manifests as anger). On my low days, you’ll see (if you were a fly on the wall, because I suppress this even around my own family), me walking in tight, anxious figure 8’s and flapping my hands in a distressed way, as I anxiously try to mentally kick my brain into gear. (It doesn’t work, but it IS a little soothing. And my dogs are SO sweet...they gather around me tightly and just seem to know I need them.)

🤷🏻‍♀️ There’s probably more I could expound on that I don’t like, but writing this one has been pretty distasteful. I try not to dwell on things I hate anymore, so I’ve put this entry down multiple times and come back to it when I’m in a decent frame of mind. I think I’m tired of talking about it now, so I’m gonna just stop talking.....

Which is a good segue into Day 20 -

————————————-

“Communication”

Ahh communication. This entry will be long, because I have a lot to communicate LOL....

Personally, I write far more coherently and eloquently than I speak. My brain goes too fast...I often trip over words; my brain’s three steps ahead of what’s coming out of my mouth and I get scrambled sometimes. I can also take the time to think about what I want to say/HOW I want to say it. Like many autistics, I’m a blurter. LOL...I am constantly trying to remind myself, just because I think it, doesn’t mean I have to say it. This gets a LOT of us in trouble...one of my most memorable examples is, I *loudly* blurted “that’s BULLSHIT!!” in a church one time. (I was speaking on how my devout Methodist grandmother, who regularly takes communion at her church, was not permitted to receive communion in a Catholic church, merely because she isn’t Catholic, despite the fact that this woman is all about some Jesus & a devoted churchgoer - not just on Easter and Christmas.) In my defense, it WAS (IS) bullshit. I just didn’t need to practically yell that in church. As you can imagine, it was like a needle scratching across a record & everyone turned to stare. (My poor husband rescued me.) 🤦🏻‍♀️ Sigh. It’s a good idea to keep me out of most church services.

I am rather famous (infamous?) for calling bullshit straight to someone’s face, BLUNTLY. It’s out of my mouth before my brain’s “tact gatekeeper” I’ve spent over a decade trying to train is even half awake at his post (it’s a him because my husband is the one who taught me how to use tact in the first place. And it’s a him because said “gatekeeper” is lazy and falls asleep on the job all the time 😆). Have you ever just blurted your honest thoughts and heard shocked gasps or someone just busts out laughing? Yeah. That happens to me regularly. Or uncomfortable chuckles and someone will blink a few times and say, “oohhhkay, well, you could said that a different way.” (My old response to that was, I’m not responsible for what your reaction is to what I say...you’re in charge of your own feelings. I *understand* now how irresponsible and unfeeling that is, and I try to keep that in the front of my mind, even when I’m frustrated and nearly burning up with the desire to speak my thoughts in their raw form, but this is routinely an area I struggle to adapt to...and I am very sorry when I hurt someone I care about.)

On the other side of this same coin though, this is a trait my friends respect deeply, because I’m not cruel hearted or anything. You always know where you stand with me, and I’m the last person to try and lie to you. I SUUUUUCK at lying. And on the rare times when I do, I usually end up eventually telling on myself (this drove my older stepsister NUTS when we were kids, because she liked to do lots of sneaky things, and I don’t have an inherently sneaky nature LOL...so “DO NOT tell momma” was a *serious* risk for her, if she let me tag along 😂). Lying to someone just feels disgusting. Oily. Shameful. I hate lying. Plus, my short term memory is a grabasstic bag of CRAP, so there’s a good chance I won’t remember the lie and get caught anyway. 🤷🏻‍♀️ My boys also suck at lying or hiding stuff, and generally prefer not to...but I also give them a safe forum to be honest. (I’m sure there’s LOTS of crap I don’t know, but you’d be surprised how much they DO tell me.)

Another thing with me personally is that I go mute sometimes. I’m not being deliberately obstinate. I’m not REFUSING to speak in those moments...sometimes I literally can’t, and the effort of doing so will make me gag, or even projectile vomit. Sounds very dramatic, doesn’t it? It is. (And it annoys the SHIT out of me.) There’s not a fucking thing i can do about it. The movement of my tongue in my mouth will literally begin to trigger my gag reflex, and if I try to power through it, I’m rewarded with my lunch returning to the surface anyway, regardless of my desires, and sometimes rather unexpectedly & violently. USUALLY this happens when I’m uber stressed, but sometimes it seems kind of out of the blue & catches even me off guard. If this happens but I still have something to say, I start texting instead, and explain. Most people - especially my hubby - are very kind when this happens. (I don’t want your pity, I just want you to switch to written communication for a minute until I can figuratively kick the fuck out of the engine in my “speaking center” and get it to work again.) Other times, I will literally get tired of talking. Like my mouth and tongue - and somehow, the “word forming” part of my brain feels physically exhausted (weird, I know, but I also spend the vast majority of my life silent - I am home alone all day, hate talking on the phone, and simply don’t speak much, by choice. So maybe it is actual “mouth fatigue” 😂😂😂 - I’ve stopped eating before because I just got tired of chewing, too, even though I’m still somewhat hungry. 🙄) I am usually *perfectly* happy to keep listening! And I’ll stay engaged in the conversation usually. I am just...done audibly talking. I’ll literally say “my mouth is tired of making the sounds now, but please keep going”...but I think my husband is the only one who doesn’t find this unusual, and rolls with it. It usually happens after a long, animated conversation...instead of winding down, though, it just..stops. If I try to keep going, cue the gagging. I can stay engaged in the conversation if you let me start writing/typing instead of speaking, for my responses. So that’s a “fun” little trait of mine that many neurotypicals find unsettling. Please don’t take it personally. My mouth just doesn’t want to make the words anymore - and I’m probably mostly done adding what I needed to add to the conversation anyway. I’m a great listener when this happens, though. 😆

Communication is a really interesting thing with all of us, because it’s a struggle on one level or another. I will tell you, it’s a frequent topic in my groups. “WHY CAN’T NEUROTYPICALS JUST SAY WHAT THE FUCK THEY MEAN?!?! 😩😩😩” I’m dead serious - you might think, because we’re sensitive (generally), we can’t “handle” it? You’d be so very wrong. What we can’t handle is when you dance around a subject or we have to try and translate what you just said to us (which most of us are not that good at). Just fucking say it! Nine times out of ten, you’ll just get a look of dawning realization and a “oh, shit, okay” response. We can handle it. Just. Say. It. We’ll respect you a lot more in the morning, LOL 😆

I think every autistic has some sort of beef with neurotypicals when it comes to communication (as I’m sure you have yours with us, obviously).

You guys operate under some weird ass rules that we simply don’t understand - especially if you don’t tell us those rules & just expect us to know. Like, if my husband hadn’t patiently taken years to show/teach me how the way I said certain things were hurtful, I would still be in the “yeah she’s cool but she’s kind of an asshole” territory. (I still struggle to grasp this, or at least it still frustrates me....truth is truth, whether it’s an ironclad general fact or your own personal truth - and yes sometimes the truth hurts, but like...I don’t pin any responsibly for that on the truth teller, if that makes sense?)

Working in rescue also helped hone my ability to speak “neurotypically” to others - I work with a LOT of women, and boy do a lot of them NOT appreciate when you bluntly tell them what you think. Men on the other hand....

I know *lots* of autistic women who prefer friendships with men, largely centering around this communication thing. We hurt men’s feelings a little less regularly than other women’s. I know I was like that, until I got a little more used to how I have to modify my communication with most women (but that annoys me, I’m gonna be honest - it annoys my Autie friends, too). The only time I am as starkly blunt as I used to be, is when speaking to my female Autie friends (because they can handle it), or most of the dudes I’m friends with. But if my message is getting “lost in the sauce” and you’re not getting my point, I usually give a frustrated sigh, WARN you that I’m about to tell you flatly what I need to say, because we aren’t getting anywhere, and just say it.

Yes I am the friend who, when you gush on and on about your new back yard bred puppy, talking all about how you’re gonna breed him when he grows up, is gonna flatly say “he’s not breeding quality”, if they’re not. Then I’m gonna ask you why you want to do such a thing, given that you’re aware of the massive load of rescue dogs (PARTICULARLY Great Danes and Cane Corsos) - and probably beat your argument down every step of the way. That doesn’t always go badly though - one of my closest friends was considering breeding their dog, and while it was a beautiful dog, it was not one that should reproduce (from an “improve the breed” perspective). We barely knew each other, but I gained a reputation for being kind but starkly honest...and I knew what I was talking about...and now I have this person’s deep respect, and they have mine (because they listened and did the research I asked them to - and did not add to the breed population). So it’s not *always* a trainwreck, because the people who end up respecting how I communicate, usually end up VERY close friends. AND I WANT THAT IN RETURN, which is refreshing for a LOT of people. I want your dead honesty in return - PLEASE. It’s so much easier for me to process and accept. For example, my house is almost constantly in some sort of disarray. I have one friend who will come in and go, “girl. I almost can’t breathe in here - this clutter is too much”(and then she offers to help me tackle it!!).

Or, fairly recently, “oh my god those curtains are so horrible, I hope you’re getting rid of those when you redo this room.”

“But I MADE those curtains! I love that print!”

“Ugh. No. They’re terrible. Get rid of them.”

My feelings were not hurt in the LEAST (I of course had a flash of “you bitch, I was so excited to find that print and I MADE THOSE, ya jerk” 😂). At first I said, “well you’re just gonna have to suck it up and deal with my shitty curtains, because I like them” 😂, but then as I was redoing the room, I took them down...and it DID look a lot better, so I left them down 😂😂😂....

So I guess my point with all this is: every autie I know deeply wishes you’d just fucking spit it out. We WILL often miss or misinterpret the point if you “fluff” it too much (around my neck of the woods, we call it putting too much gild on the lily, though I’ve never understood that one. Idk if a “gilded lily” is/was ever a thing, why anyone would gild a lily in the first place...LOTS of us struggle with colloquialisms that don’t make literal sense. 😆 Recently a friend was baffled over “shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which fills up faster”, and fully half of the respondents to her post were people baffled by why anyone would shit in their hand - I and a couple others had to explain, and it just ended with them going “well that’s a fucking stupid saying anyway, and wishes aren’t things you can put in your hands, either” 😂😂😂...but I’m from the south, and these things are just part of our vocab. MOST of them are easy to grasp for me, like “nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs”, because I immediately picture it and can grasp the meaning. But others I don’t get - the gilded lily is one LOL)...

We are LITERAL AS FUCK. It’s why we ruin lots of jokes, too. My poor husband is the dad joke king - and I ruin fully 1/3 or more of his jokes by being too literal (which he also finds amusing, so that’s good). Sometimes we realize we’re ruining the joke but we don’t care, because it’s dumb, or we just .... can’t....HELP IT. 😩😂

Jeez, I could almost write all day about autistics and communication LOL!!

But to summarize (and not succinctly, sorry), I guess, for me and many many others...we are often blunt, direct, almost painfully honest, and very, very literal. Your unspoken rules of communication absolutely go over our heads, unless you - yannow - *communicate* and explain them. We’ll probably tell you those rules are stupid and exhausting, but we will TRY and stick to it as best we can. But see, we literally have to think about every single word that comes out of our mouths, because we communicate far more directly than you weird fuckers do. And it is literally actually exhausting. It’s not an easily natural thing for us to adapt to, your weird way of saying things but not saying what you really mean. You’re wasting a LOT of words there, sir, and we are now getting obsessively confused over why you would do such a thing. 😂 It’s also why I keep getting banned from Facebook. My recent one was because I said - in one of my Autie “safe” groups, where I should be able to just say what I mean - that I tend to punch or want to punch people who deliberately startle the shit out of me. We were talking about how stupid April Fool’s Day was, and how we hate pranks. Three of us got banned for 30 days for just...well. Facebook called it “incitement of violence”. 🙄🥺🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼

But I haven’t met - yet, maybe? - an autistic person who is cruel natured - not one of us gets any joy from being a bully type. WE feel everything on a higher level, so we kind of assume you do, too...you might think, “then why are you such an asshole?!”, but it’s simply that we - or every Autie I know, anyway - struggle to grasp how directly communicating your feelings is so fuckin hard or hurtful for y’all. I think anyone struggles to grasp something they themselves don’t experience. All you have to do is explain, though, and keep guiding us towards communicating in ways that we both find acceptable. I mean we’re champs at accepting all manner of different human - regardless of race, sexuality, and so on - but the communication is one area that frustrates the ever loving SHIT out of most of us, because it makes so little logical sense why anyone would say a bunch of useless words that muddy up their intent.

My closing advice? Help Your Pet Autie ™️ (this is absolutely a tongue in cheek term btw) understand how you’d like to be communicated with, and guide us. BE SPECIFIC for fucks sake - we suck at guessing what you might want, and it’s so frustrating that we’ll often just stop communicating at all. Instead of saying “it hurts me when you say this”, try saying “the WAY you said this hurt my feelings because of ____. Maybe you could put it like this instead” (or, “you know, you should really just keep shit like that to yourself”) and *give examples*. Don’t expect us to come up with different ways of saying shit, because we don’t understand what it is specifically you want, and it’s not very logical, therefore it’s not “natural” for us. Plus, everyone is different. I can’t talk to one of my sons the same way I can talk to the other, without certain negative reactions. Give us a chance to know your needs - we DO CARE!!! - but be CLEAR. I know in your world, tact is a big deal, but MOST of us will miss the fucking point if you’re too tactful (and when we misinterpret, we always err on the side of worst case scenario, and make the issue wayyyyy bigger than it should be. Being clear is soooo important).

And hey. Maybe it’ll help clear up some communication in other areas of your life. Being clear isn’t a license to be a fucking asshole; nobody’s giving you a license to unleash on everyone about how much you can’t stand humans...if WE hafta be quiet about that, so do you lmao...fair’s fair. 😆 But quit hedging and hinting and hoping we will pick up on the whatever your grievance is - because we won’t. We’ll just know you’re unhappy, and start panicking over guessing what we did wrong, and just shut down, because we have no idea.

Just. Fucking. Say it. 😘

[pinehutch]

(Thoughts about living in a body, some things are tagged but also, content warning for like, extreme self-indulgence and a whole lot of words.)

Pull up a chair (god knows I have), and let me tell you about living in my body. 

Something always hurts. You are 38 years old;  of course something always hurts, but sometimes what hurts is the reassuring prick and hot-cold lance of the Sunday evening injection site. Prick of the upper thigh, show some leg, know that your fingers will unfurl in the morning in a way that’s pulled along by your intent. 

You look younger than you are, if you are not too tired, if you have dyed your hair to hide the silver that started coming in at 22, if you’re performing the right kind of agelessness. The skin on your face has faint freckles and very rarely any blemishes, faint lines on your forehead since your mid-teens. One slightly dark spot that you’re keeping an eye on, that you remember to keep an eye on only for 2 minutes every day, while you’re brushing your teeth. You resolve to keep an eye on it. You forget by morning. 

It is a good face. It has nice eyes, and a rosy mouth, and a pleasant structure. You’re not exactly proud of it, or your hair, but you’re on decent, civil terms with the above-the-bust zones. You know that not wearing makeup is a privilege you have, that other people spend money and time and energy on makeup to appear to have it as good as you do. People will say kind things, and strangers may smile when they see you. 

You still wish you knew what to do with makeup. You still wish you could signal, here I am, look at me, I am trying to tell you something with this face. You are not in control of what your face is saying to people. The consequences of this lack of control are presenting an appearance unrelenting openness. Strangers may talk to you when they see you. 

Strangers! They have so many opinions! They will see you walking to and fro, and they will say to themselves, I believe that is a woman, and they will say to themselves, I have an opinion about this womanish person, this body, and they will say to you you gorgeous and you fat slut and you stuckup and you freak and you tits, you red hair, you hips. They will offer you a ride in their van (oh my god, their van), and will follow you for three blocks to ask if you have a husband, and they will shyly approach you in the produce section, and they tell you about their friend who is A Big Girl, Too, and they will throw pornographic comments at you on your second meeting, they will insist you do not need that size jean, and they will spit in front of you as you try to keep your head down, to keep moving. 

They have watched you at the gym, and they have laughed at you. (They don’t matter, and they are few and far between.)

(Every now and then they will give you thoughtful compliments sometimes, on the things that you’ve chosen. You should always give thoughtful and appropriate compliments to people, when you can.) 

Your body does not feel like it is yours alone. It is you, but it is not yours alone. It is a public and a private, personal nuisance. A man on the subway bumps against your ass four times in two stops. A woman on an airplane looks grim when that ass means you wrap an extender around your hips, pushed up up out of the seat. (Ha, seat.) Your shoulders are broad and you go to a show in a lovely old theatre and the whole time, you are curling, curling, curling inwards. You are muscle and bone, and you are trying to be a flower, folding petal-soft and unobtrusive. 

You cannot be unobtrusive. You simply do not fit. You have clothing in a range of 8 different sizes and you could wear all of it on the same day. Every dress is too short. 

Your body can be useful. Yes, it hurts, and it’s tired, and sometimes even the gentle push of your hands through the water for thirty minutes means your fingers will ache for a day and a half. You can’t always open a jar without a knife, but you can lift a heavy object onto a high shelf. Can anybody reach that? You can. You can walk for miles in the city dragging fifty pounds of luggage and you will even recover.  You can, on a good day, manage a seven-k trail, or ramble in the woods for some hours. You can carry the potting soil up to the third floor deck and fill the planters. You cannot climb out of the pool without a ladder, or you will limp for the rest of the week, and wear wrist braces. 

You can manage. You can live in your too-tall, too-broad, too-strong, too-fragile body, and you can live well in it, when it is only one part of you. 

You live in the world. You live in the world and so much of it is spurred by hatred and money and the money you spend to stop hating yourself. When you are 20-something, you start looking for alternatives. (You think you are looking for cute clothes; you find new ways of thinking, about your body, about all bodies, about bodies which are people. You find some cute clothes, too. Seeing the forest doesn’t take you out of it.) You learn that there are people who have functionally stopped hating themselves. You stop, functionally, hating yourself for being the body that you are. 

It gets easier, for a while. It never goes away, but it does get easier, and you learn so much about how you can be a person, a person who is and who has and who lives in a body, and never only any one thing. You practice telling yourself that every body is a good body, even while you read deeper and wider and realize that not everyone can feel that their body is a good body. Even if all of those systems and people and rules that say this body is good but this body is not good were not in place, not everyone can feel that their body is a good body. Some bodies aren’t even very successful at their primary function (i.e. being alive). Some bodies hurt all of the time. 

Ten years later, and your body becomes one of the kinds of bodies with above-average premature mortality rates. It becomes one of the kinds of bodies where something hurts, all of the time. For a time, you cannot manage very well at all. You cry a lot, because you are in pain, and you are frightened, and nothing works, and you lose a year of your life to hands locked in fists and panic attacks and vomiting up different combinations of meds. The (terrible) social worker will tell you that heels are not a part of anyone’s identity, and ask if you’ve tried eating kale. Your mother will say that you should lose weight; you do not walk on your hands, though. Your father will tell you that the same disease is in his wife’s lungs. Your boss will tell you, with kind eyes, about the long-term disability accommodations available to you (it’s only a forty per cent salary cut). The pamphlet will tell you that statistically, you will not be able to work for more than 10 years from this point. People who love you will kindly remind you that you had been working too much, volunteering too much, and that stress is probably a triggering cause. 

You will leave that year behind. You will leave it, walking and swimming and carrying on. You will dance in the shower again. You will learn to speak up when you are in crisis. You will never wholly stop feeling betrayed, and it is impossible to tell where the betrayal came from: did your body betray the you-of-your-mind, by detonating the sleeping danger in your genetics? Or did your mind betray that you-of-your-body, by pressing too hard on the seal holding back that self-immolating flame? It’s a never-ending, tedious dialogue. (Is it my fault? It is my fault. Is it my fault it is my fault is it my fault it is.) 

You will learn to smile at your reflection again. People will say, you are beautiful, and you will know it is true for them, and that if you are beautiful like a whale, like an iceberg, like a thornbush, like a moonroad, like a forest, like anything lovely and grand and untouchable and inhuman - at least you can take comfort in good company. You try to turn that misty gaze upon yourself. 

You would like to look at yourself in the mirror and see only a person. You would like to look in the mirror and see only a you-who-is-whole. You will, you resolve. One day you will. 

*** 

So, I’ve been tired beyond tired this week. I’m sleep-deprived and not clear-headed, and this was terrifying to write, but it comes from a place that is as honest as I can make it. In frank terms, I’m 178 cm tall, and right now my every piece of clothing I’m wearing is a ‘straight size’ XXL and made of super soft jersey, because I’m in my pyjamas. My wardrobe ranges from a regular XL to “I got this wool coat made-to-measure because nothing else would cover my hips without falling off my shoulders.” 

The thing is: I started consciously and deliberately seeking out information on body positivity and on fat acceptance in, I dunno, 2002? 2003? I learned so much from intersectional feminists on the internet who were having complicated and often very personal conversations about bodies in general, and about ‘fat’ bodies in particular (what’s a fat body, anyway? what’s a tall one?), and then about the ways fatness intersects with race, gender, class, and ability besides. By the time I got to thirty, I was genuinely relieved to not be wasting energy hating myself on a daily basis. 

And I mostly don’t, still, most of the time. I’ve never quite ‘gotten over’ the sense of bruised identity that comes with a chronic illness, and the way that having a body that is physically more vulnerable has made me feel more mentally and emotionally vulnerable to the kind of social weapons that we/they use against our/each other’s bodies. I continue to do the work of trying to be neutral-to-positive about my body (it’s just me! it has no more or less moral weight than any other body! neat!), but when I feel generally worn-down and otherwise a bit hyper-aware of bodies, it’s really, really hard. 

At least once a day for the last several weeks I have had to stop whatever I’ve been doing when, unprompted, a thought like “it is impossible for someone to want you” or “you are, objectively, disgusting” crosses my mind. (I don’t know why my inner critic is so formal! Just a super-big jerk, really.) I think in words, so it comes just like that, in clear and precise words, and I have to stop and interrupt myself. Usually this is just a pause, and a shake of my head, and a breath, and I throw myself back into whatever has been otherwise occupying me. 

It’s fine - it’s mostly fine. Maybe this is normal, maybe this is how everyone experiences their physicality and their subjectivity. And it will be better in the morning, so now I’ll stretch my hands and fingers, and rest. 

[dhufflebee]

when I see you like that  (a Glee fanfiction)

One-shot Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jesse St. James & Andrea Cohen; Jesse St. James/Rachel Berry - mentioned (and at this point very much one-sided) Characters: Jesse St. James; Andrea Cohen  Additional Tags: rambling phone calls; basically just Jesse moping a lot; Friendship; Pining; Self-Worth Issues; rated T for some swearing

Read on:  AO3  |  ff.net Summary: After the loss at Nationals, Jesse can’t face his Vocal Adrenaline students, and calls his friend Andrea instead. Talking with her, though, painfully reveals his well-concealed sense of inadequacy—and his unquenchable feelings for one Rachel Berry

This fic is basically 3k words of Jesse moping, in a weird half-dialogue half-rant format. I’ve felt the need to write this since I’ve rewatched ‘Nationals’: that three-second shot of Jesse on the verge of tears has been haunting me, and I had to get the story out of my system. Most of all, I needed him to get some of the love and validation that the show deprived him of.

In my mind, it isn’t at all out of character for Jesse to be this miserable in private. He is crazy talented and he knows it, but he also has deep self-worth issues (due to his demanding and not very loving upbringing), for which he compensates with pride and overconfidence. He also has his (in)famous showface that rarely goes away, and he doesn’t feel comfortable being emotionally vulnerable. Except with Andrea—and, well, with Rachel.

By the way, I know Jesse and Andrea's friendship is mostly fanon, but I like it very much nonetheless.

Jesse had never felt so upset in his life. His heart, his mind, his guts were telling him conflicting things, and his knees were starting to give way under him as the adrenaline of the competition slowly went away. He barely managed to close the door to his room before he had to sit on the bed. He was feeling lightheaded, with black pushing at the edge of his vision—the way he would feel after a long training when he hadn’t eaten enough. But it wasn’t low blood pressure, Jesse knew that. It was the same dreadful mix of emotions and thoughts as that damn day two years before, but somehow a hundred times worse. Then it had been divided loyalties, two shattered hearts, and the gut punch of feeling like an utter bastard, but now… damn, he’d added so many failures in the past two years that he had no idea how his showface was still so good. He was starting to feel like a hollow husk at times. Something had definitely broken back then, and the constant, cyclical reminders of what he’d stupidly lost weren’t doing him any favors—that evening after Nationals, the castle of cards that had been Jesse St. James’s so-called adult life was a breath away from collapsing, once and for all.

Jesse kicked off his shoes, threw the suit jacket haphazardly on a chair, and lay down on the bed, trying to steady his breath against his inner turmoil. After a while, he felt blindly around his legs for his phone, until he found it lying precariously near the edge of the bed. He then flung the duvet up over his head and snuggled under it, shirt and nice slacks be damned. He unblocked his phone and opened his recent calls, dialing his best (only?) friend’s number.

“Victory boy! Hey!” a chipper voice answered.

“Andrea…”

“Ah. You didn’t win, then.”

Jesse sighed. Andrea’s reaction made him realize he sounded as dejected as he felt—something he’d long learned how to conceal, but the Chicago air must have jinxed him or something. Or maybe he was simply beginning to crumble under the pressure of his feelings. Whatever.

“I feel like crap, Andy. I should be with the guys, drowning our disappointment in ginger ale or what-have-you, but I don’t even have the energy for that. I barely managed to tell them I was proud of them—and I am—before I had to get out of there. They were crying, Andy, and the looks on the seniors’ faces… I just—I couldn’t stay.”

Jesse knew he was rambling, but a big part of his and Andrea’s friendship had always been taking turns in unloading while the other listened and then offered some honest advice. No one else in his life had ever made him feel safe enough to be so open and vulnerable—except for Rachel, but he’d thrown away his chance to have her at the other end of the line again, hadn’t he?

“I’m sure they understand, Jesse. You told them you were proud, and that’s what matters. Remember how nice it felt when they would tell us? Eased the disappointment of losing somewhat, no?” Andrea asked, a tinge of wistfulness in her voice.

“Yeah, well… god, they worked so hard for this. I really thought we’d win, you know? I honestly miss the high of victory—as I’m sure you do, too,” Jesse said with a smirk, getting a chuckle from Andrea in response. “Nevertheless, Carmel High is going to kick me out the minute I get back to Akron, as they so candidly told me they would when I got the job. And I guess they have all the rights to do it—what kind of failure am I, four-time champion and I can't even coach fucking Vocal Adrenaline to victory? I wouldn't want to keep me around either."

Jesse heard himself getting whinier by the minute, and he hated it, hated how earnest he ended up being while talking with Andrea (and with Rachel, too—he never quite managed to keep his walls up for long with her either… Stop! Stop thinking about that!). Andrea hesitated and exhaled, and Jesse could imagine her shaking her head as well.

"Why didn't you win, though?" she asked at last. "I've seen those videos you sent me: the choreo was incredible! What happened?"

"A ragtag bunch of misfits, that's what happened," Jesse answered, trying to sound mean but only managing desolate. Figures. "The New Directions really busted their asses this year, apparently. You should have seen them, everyone performed at a level they'd never reached before—and you know how they've always been so endearingly energetic. I loathe to admit it, but they were great, and I guess they did deserve to win. Probably. Couldn't tell that to my guys, though," he chuckled, gloomily.

"I'm glad to hear that," Andrea said, with a careful, knowing tone that Jesse instantly dreaded. "Is that it, though? This whole call just because the New Directions finally snatched first place after years of trying?"

Jesse didn't answer. He couldn't, he wouldn't tell Andrea the real reason of his moping—besides, he knew she could easily guess it.

"Unless..." (There it is.) "What about Rachel, Jesse? Did she sing?"

Jesse was thankful the conversation was happening on the phone, Andrea at one end of the nation and himself buried under a duvet in a hotel room in Chicago. He wouldn't have been able to sustain her gaze, otherwise. At least on the phone he didn't need his showface, and his instinct to flee from emotional vulnerability was somewhat tamed (but not much).

"Jesse?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the phone more tightly, hoping to keep at bay the flood of emotions that he could sense coming. At last, he whispered: "Yeah, she did. It's All Coming Back to Me Now".

"Oh."

And that was it. Andrea’s understanding tone was all it took for the floodgates to open and for Jesse’s rambling, vulnerable side to come out in full force. Tears threatened to escape his eyes, but he them firmly shut—he would not cry.

“God, Andy, when she sung that song—it felt like she was saying all those things to me!” Jesse’s voice traitorously cracked at that last word.

“I don’t think that’s—”

“I know!” Good lord, he was whining again. “I know that it’s ridiculous! that I’m reading too much into it, that they chose the song way beforehand and Rachel has much better things to think about than me… But what if she was singing about us after all? The words are rather fitting, and she knows that—same as she knew we were bound to meet here tonight. It’s there, Andy, the whole story! Me being an idiot, all my mistakes and the hurt I inflicted her—she was reproaching me, and I cannot blame her because I deserve it. And I especially deserve to hear it from her magnificent voice, even if god knows I don’t need to be reminded of what I did to her.” Jesse was breathing heavily, almost unable to articulate his feelings, his words spilling out at an alarming speed.

Andrea remained silent for a few seconds, then answered with a deliberate yet soothing tone—the one she reserved for Jesse’s rare mopey moments. “I don’t think your history with Rachel had anything to do with the song, Jesse.” He scoffed lightly, but she ignored him. “Besides, you were a teenager back then, and you were forced between a rock and a hard place. Shelby was a bitch that manipulated you and treated both Rachel and the parents of that baby like dirt. Sure, you were a bit of a dick, but you’ve got to cut yourself some slack. You were not stupider than the average teen in love, all things considered.”

Jesse tried to scoff again, but what escaped his throat sounded more like a sob than anything else. “Andy, you don’t understand,” he pleaded, pressing the heel of his free hand on his eyes. “I threw away the one truly warm thing in my life because Shelby threatened to take away my scholarship to UCLA, and look how well that went,” Jesse laughed bitterly. Ah, the familiar taste of self-deprecation. Saying all that out loud felt better than just mulling over it constantly, though. “I’m such an imbecile—I got college handed to me on a silver platter, and I couldn’t even manage to float just above the pass grade? Or, I don’t know, use my fucking brain for a change? And to think I would be so conceited about it, as if I could ever hope to accomplish anything intelligence-related…”

“Jesse, stop!” Andrea interjected vehemently. “You’re spiraling and you’re starting to sound like your father. You’re not stupid, you’re not brainless—you’re smart, and the most brilliant guy I know as far as musical theater is concerned. And don’t start with how acting or singing or whatever is bullshit, because I’ll come down there, slap you, and then find your dad and punch him on his ugly mug.” At that, Jesse felt a sharp surge of affection for his friend, regardless of her proclivity for mild physical threats. “We all sweated blood in Vocal Adrenaline, but we were happy and good—you above all, because performing is your passion and your talent. Who cares if you didn’t pass gen eds? You’re wonderful, and you will take Broadway by storm soon.”

“Ms. Tibideaux didn’t seem to think so,” Jesse replied, dejectedly.

“Who?”

“Carmen Tibideaux. NYADA?”

“What does she have to do with anything now?” Andrea asked, confused. “That was years ago.”

“Yeah, right—the first of my many failures.” Jesse’s tone was more bitter than he expected. He intentionally hadn’t thought much about his audition since, but he guessed disappointments never actually stopped stinging, did they?

“Come on, Jesse…”

“I didn’t get in, okay? No point in sweetening the pill. I was good but apparently not enough—and I always knew that, but now I have confirmation from the woman’s own voice that I ‘showed promise’ but couldn’t overcome the obstacles to be the best. So really, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life.” Was he being overdramatic and overly self-critical? Absolutely. At that moment, though, Jesse had no idea how to stop.

“Enough!” Andrea exclaimed. Deep down, the rational part of Jesse’s brain had realized he was being maddening, but he also had to admit he didn’t mind Andy’s forceful tone. It felt strangely soothing, being told to get a grip from someone who cared about him.

“I can’t believe you are saying this,” she pressed on. “I’ve already told you: you are incredible, and I won’t let you wallow in this kind of negativity. The audition was years ago, and believe me, I’ve seen you get absurdly better in the meantime. Ms. Tibideaux said you showed promise, and that’s good! You did and you do, and you will reach even higher that she could ever imagine.”

Jesse hummed, not entirely convinced but certainly relieved that someone else was eager to vouch for his talent. He knew he was good (okay, very good), but that didn’t mean he wasn’t, from time to time, afraid he’d been deluding himself due to his own arrogance.

“When did you speak with the woman?” Andrea asked.

“She was here to see Rachel perform. And when I went and told her she shouldn’t let Rachel slip through her fingers, she remembered me and made a list of all the flaws in my audition. Lovely experience, really,” Jesse said, with a bitter chuckle.

“Aw, you put in a good word for Rachel—that’s so sweet! Did you tell her?”

“I can’t! Are you crazy? She cannot know ever. I don’t deserve her knowing, if anything I owe her.” Jesse replied, his voice half-strangled. (Pathetic.) “Rachel and I bantered for a couple of minutes before the competition, and it almost got me punched by Finn, in addition to giving me some serious doubts about my ability to function properly.” He smiled at the memory. Rachel’s red dress was still incredibly vivid in his mind. “God, Andrea, you should have seen her—she was radiant. I’d ever seen her inhabit the stage so perfectly. She is the one who deserves to take Broadway by storm and who will. She’s a powerhouse, and she’s absurdly talented, and tonight she looked so beautiful with that smile of hers, and then she sang Céline and I couldn’t—”

Jesse heard Andrea exhale, as if ready to answer, but he rambled on, unable—unwilling—to stop now that someone was there to listen to him for once.

“I just—I miss Rachel so much. She earnestly thought I was worth all the fuss. Even with Shelby, it’d always seem like my work was barely acceptable, and that all the trophies were just due to luck and the power of a good routine or something. Which yeah, I guess is true, but—honestly, Andy, except for you, Rachel’s the only person who’d always tell me how much she liked when I performed, and how good I was. I was starved—I am starved for that, Andy. D’you know my grades improved while I was in Lima with her? I actually had to study, and I wasn’t half bad at it. All thanks to her. God knows why she stayed with me after the initial razzle-dazzle, because she was way better that I could ever deserve. And she definitely deserved more than yours fucking truly,” Jesse spat out.

“And I guess she will have it,” he continued, barely taking time to breathe, “since she’s getting married soon to Finn. And sure, I hate him and he hates me, but I can see how Rachel looks at him, and he looks at her the same way. I mean, he’s a rhythmically-challenged dumbass, but I can’t deny he makes her happy—that’s the truly important thing. I ruined everything, and I know I’d never be able to make her feel that way. I think Rachel could really be the one, you know? I feel it in my bones, I’ll never be as happy with anyone else as I was with her… But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Rachel won’t have a fuckup like me beside her, who’d just end up wiping her wonderful smile away.”

Jesse had to stop—his throat was aching due to the strain of putting one coherent word after another, of trying to talk as fast as his inner turmoil demanded. Tears were escaping his eyes and running down his cheeks and in his hair. He didn’t care that he was crying, though: he already felt like an utter failure, another embarrassing thing wouldn’t change anything. Besides, it was nice, having a friend listen to him while he moped and pined. Crying is good, right? It helps get the toxins and the sadness out, doesn’t it? A good cry and I’ll stop feeling like shit—

“Oh, Jesse…” Andrea whispered after a beat, and that shattered Jesse’s attempts at regaining his composure—he started sobbing uncontrollably, burying himself more and more under the duvet.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” Andrea asked, softly. “God, Jesse, I wish I was there to hug you. Believe me, though, Rachel is right—everything she told you and everything she thinks about you is true. You’ve had a lot of shitty people in your life, but never for a second doubt that Rachel was sincere and saying things as they are. You’re brilliant and very talented, whether you believe it or not,” Andrea added, in a decisive tone that drew a wet smile from Jesse, “and no amount of Shelby or Ms. Tibideaux or your asshole of a father can claim otherwise. All that hard work and dedication… you do deserve the world, Jesse.”

Calming his breath enough to answer took Jesse a moment—his gratefulness to Andrea and his longing for Rachel were a killer combination, and he didn’t want to start bawling again.

“Thank you, Andy,” he finally managed to say. “I just wish I’d made fewer mistakes, you know? Maybe then I wouldn’t always feel like such a failure, maybe I wouldn’t be so lonely all the time and it wouldn’t hurt this much… I know things between me and Rachel probably won’t ever be mended, but gosh what I wouldn’t give to sing with her on a real stage, to have a partner that inspires me to be better and lets me share the spotlight with her.” Jesse exhaled shakily, willing himself to not cry until he had finished talking. “It’s too late now, though, and it’s all my fault, no point in denying that. I just wish for her to be as wonderful and captivating as she was tonight, forever—she lit up the whole place. I really hope I didn’t make an ass of myself with Ms. Tibideaux, and that Rachel’s dreams will come true. No, scratch that: I know they will. I just pray I’ll be able to get a glimpse of her happy as can be.”

Andrea’s silence at the other end of the line was almost deafening, but Jesse pressed on, feeling that he’d never have another chance (nor the nerve) to admit to it all out loud.

“Sorry for the rant, Andy. We lost Nationals and it hurts like hell, but it will pass—it’s going to be a nifty addition to the You’re A Failure pile, though,” Jesse mused, with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I have no idea what my plans for the future are going to be, after Carmel High parts ways with me. I guess I could finally try and go to New York for real. It’s just that, you know, seeing Rachel again really threw me for a loop, even after all this time, and I’m not sure why—”

“It’s love, Jesse,” Andrea interjected. “The way you talk about Rachel—you love her.”

Jesse inhaled sharply. Repeating that to himself was one thing, but hearing someone else say it so matter-of-factly felt real, definitive. (Scary.) “Hurray for me, then,” he muttered, at a loss for words to describe how his heart was ablaze, dismayed, and longing at the same time.

“I really hope you and Rachel will put your cracked pieces back together, Jesse,” Andrea said, sounding softer than she did at any other point in the phone call. “You both deserve a great life, and to have your talents shine—you and her alongside each other? Musical theater won’t ever be prepared, let me tell you.”

“Thank you, Andy.” Jesse’s eyes had filled with tears once again, and he’d once again buried himself under the duvet, in hopes of preventing the onslaught of painful memories he was sure would come. But it was no use—he thought back to Rachel singing, and a loud sob escaped his lips. Tears started falling freely down his cheeks and neck, reaching his hair and the collar of his shirt. “I wish. I’m not sure I believe that, but god, I wish.”

[nny11writes]

For the fic writer ask game: What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write? (Feel free to rant :) )

Hahahaha, sorry were you looking for one trope? 

I’m usually so positive so now you’ve done it. You’ve unlocked me complaining about random shit that doesn’t usually matter. Because the damn busted wide the fuck open! Okay, so I’m going to approach this as outside of smut fics with intense kinks I can’t stand (vore, foot fetish, scat play, etc), because that’s me getting squicked and/or triggered and not just tropes that I wish would die in a fire.

My only disclaimer up front is that if you love most of these (hopefully it’ll be obvious which ones I will not forgive/excuse you from), that’s awesome! Go for it! Read it, write it, print it out to loving re-read and paste on the walls! Fandom is, in large part, about finding your niche and enjoying what you enjoy pretty much shamelessly. So I’m not passing judgement on anyone who enjoys reading or writing (most of) these.

CW: rape, sexual assault Also I’ve had a shit few days, so if you don’t want to read someone just being negative and bitching this is probably not the post for you friend. But it all below a cut so people can avoid!

Crossover Fics/Rule 50

My main gripe with this is that without fail a series I love get crossed over with a fandom I either don’t care about or hate. Every time I’ve tried to force myself to read one it’s never worked out for me. Sometimes fics aren’t properly tagged and I’m getting into the setting only for other characters from another fandom to suddenly show up and literally I instantly loose interest. The closest I got to writing a crossover fic, was on FF.net where I had all the characters I wrote for “talking to me” when I hit a big wall of writer’s block in the hopes that writing something so different and strange for me would help. It didn’t. It was interesting for 0.2 seconds to wonder how characters would interact, but then I instantly lost interest because I end up leaning so heavily of character tropes to make it work which, for me, isn’t fun to read or write.

Like, just write fusion! I like fusion! I’m currently writing a SPOP-SW fusion! It allows me to play with characters in a fun world that I already understand, but without the frustration of characters becoming more 2D or very OOC (or both) to force them to interact with one another. Rage Fics

Honestly? If you write and post rage fics, fuck you. Full stop. Fuck you. 

I’m about to tangent, but I swear it’s related. This is the equivalent of someone tagging a character or ship or fandom they hate in a post bashing them or blasting them to hell and back. Fucking beyond rude and obnoxious. That’s what rage fics are cranked up to 11. You are 100% allowed to hate on fandom/character/ship/trope/whatever the fuck, but when you do that shit you are forcing people who enjoy the media to see/interact with your BS because you fucking tagged it to show up where we are. A great example here in SPOP is Catra. I love her! I understand why some people don’t, and they’re 100% allowed to hate her and resent that so many people like her. Recently I went to the Catra tag to find art and fic, maybe some of the top notch meta this fandom puts out if I was lucky, and got stuck seeing post after post after meta post comparing her to another character in the show to explain why she’s an awful person, badly written character, and anyone who likes her (but didn’t like the poster’s fave) was an idiot/asshole/troll/bitch/dumbass and you know what? I went from having a decent time decompressing after a shitty day at work to getting fucking sent around the sun with stress. Like, bro, I’m here to ENJOY myself thanks, and when you tag things I go to for fun and fluff when I’m out of spoons and ready to snap to ranting about hating it, you make me want to scream.

Y’all don’t know how many people are lucky that I write up responses in word so I can get it out of my system and then just DELETE the whole fucking thing. Rage fic is that same fucking set up, but instead of being a relatively quick post (where I can block the poster here on tumblr), it’s a fanfic that people are going to continue to click into over and over and over again for fun only to get body slammed. There’s no way to warn people on AO3 if something is a rage fic beyond not leaving a kudos and dropping a comment. I don’t know a lot of people who read comments first so it doesn’t always work. 

If you post rage fics, grow up. Stop that shit. Fuck you. Instead, try not purposefully interacting with fandom that makes you so mad that you think doing this is an appropriate reaction. Block tags, block users, regulate comments, go whole fucking hog. You should be able to enjoy fandom too! But if you can’t do that without tearing down other people in fandom then you make me want to beat you over the head until you self-isolate to play by yourself in a different sandbox. Seriously. Fuck you if you do this.

Troll Fics

Did you think I came on strong for rage fics? This is worse. 

If you do this? Fuck you. You get NOTHING but my pure rage and if I find this shit I will report you however I can and then shout from the rooftops about it. And I’m sure if you do write troll fics because you enjoy being purposefully offensive and triggering then you’re probably delighted that my reaction to just thinking about this is wishing I had the power to fuck up your life. 

Like, the ONLY thing I can say for rage fic is that at least typically the person writing it actually enjoys some aspect of the fandom or fandom in general. 

Troll fics are just meant to be offensive on purpose and if you write and post that you’re a bad person. No exceptions. You can make different choices and work to become a better person or a good person, but right now, right this second as you do it? You’re a bad person. You should probably figure out why you get so much joy out of posting things with the sole purpose of hurting/triggering/being cruel to others. And you might need help to do that. I legit think you should reach out to people with different opinions from your own to try and break out of it. Get a therapist. Do fucking something worthwhile, because posting troll fics is not worth anyone’s while. Fuck you. Rape as a Backstory

I hope I don’t have to fucking explain why this makes me want to literally explode. I’m purposefully not writing that as R*pe so that people with rape tagged don’t see this.

If you think that rape is the only way to push your story forward or is a great way to give a character “free and easy trauma”, literally stop. Just. Fucking. Stop. There are other ways. Really look at your work, really think about /why/ it’s so important to you that the character /has/ to be raped. Most of the time the real answer is you don’t have a reason you just chose it because you either don’t care, think it’s not a big deal, or never considered other possibilities. There are stories where rape does need to be included, stories that address the topic kindly and/or tag appropriately for it. I’ve read some of these that were really amazing, both short (<1k) and long (>100k) because the author actually took a hot second to address the topic in an intelligent way. Whether that was to dive into how it’s harmful, address their own trauma, or (honestly) even for the smut porn of it but with all the proper tags on it. If you have it to be purely enjoyed by yourself and/or others with dubcon or noncon kinks, cool, good for you, TAG IT APPROPRIATELY. Fucking bless writers who still use “Dead Dove/Do Not Eat” tags y’all are doing great work. But the vast majority using this trope? 

They aren’t that, they aren’t anything like that at all, they aren’t always tagged correctly or at all and that’s by design, it’s often for shock value or a quick ‘well that’s why they’re anti-social’, it’s sometimes used as an excuse for one character to swear off sex until the “right person” comes along to “cure them”, and they shouldn’t have ever been posted.

Redemption Equals Sex/Sexual Karma

I know this is spring boarding a bit, but please stop writing these two tropes. 

I’m exhausted  y’all. And not just because I’m asexual. This trope is disgusting and usually comes with heaps of sexism, racism, and homophobia. If you want to write smut please just write the fucking smut. I’m literally posting smut fic and am planning to work on another one tonight! JUST WRITE SMUT WITHOUT MAKING IT DISGUSTINGLY ANTI-MINORITY GROUPS AND PLAYING INTO HARMFUL STEREOTYPES.  If bad guys become good(ish) guys because a woman saw past their barriers, took care of them, are a surrogate mother, and then had wild and kinky sex with them then it’s a bad fic. Likewise, if a character is punished for having sex, or is sexually assaulted to show that they’re now bad then it’s a bad fic.

If a character’s suffering is rewarded with sex to “cure” them and “make them better” then it’s a bad fic.

There are so many ways that this shit becomes a seriously harmful fic.

Please. Please, stop doing this. I am on my knees. Stop!

I am sick of ‘Draco’s in Leather Pants’ (can’t fucking believe I’m whipping that term out again holy shit what year is it) getting redeemed because they slept with someone and now found a reason to care. Sex leading someone on the path towards redemption is so EXTREMELY rarely handled in a way that’s well done. Just. Don’t. Be an unapologetic villain lover, slap them in an AU where they aren’t a pure villain, but don’t do this. Like I wrote above, I’m also just sick of (usually, but not always) dudes who put rape in to punish (usually, but not always) female characters or to punish weak/pushover characters (usually, but not always males). And equally tired of traumatized characters “casting off their shackles” to enjoy wild and kinky sex because someone with a magic dick/strap/fingers/tongue “showed them it’s okay” and “made it all better”.

Just, don’t. Be a fucking decent human being and don’t.

Character/Reader Fics

I...I really just don’t get this? It’s very uncomfortable to me and I’m assuming that’s due to me being aroace, I can’t read them and if I try to I either become so uncomfortable I stop or so rage filled I stop. 

I don’t mind 2nd person stories, but most of the ones I see are character/reader fics and it’s...like, it’s just bad. Not “cringe” just enjoyable for me. I can’t explain why I hate this so much considering I do enjoy some 2nd person fics. Idk, I really don’t have the words to explain why these bother me so much. :\

I ain’t got an alternative, if you like these you like them, and if you don’t you just don’t. Thank you for tagging so I can avoid. Have fun on your own! Song Fics and/or Audio/Sound Cue Fics

Sorry guys, I just hate it. I can’t really read a fic and listen to music at the same time, it becomes background noise 100% and detracts from both for audio cue fics.

Fuck, just realized I don’t know if people know what those are. Audio/Sound cue fics are fics where you’re reading along and all the sudden there’s a link or URL that you’re supposed to follow to help set up the next scene/enhance it. Hate it. Hate, hate, hate. It detracts from your story and makes it weaker while being annoying and breaking me the reader out of my enjoyment of your story. Hate! Telling me in the A/N that this (or these) are the song(s) you listened to while writing, song(s) you based the story on, or even that you think they’re good songs to get you in the mood for the story is totally okay! I’ll probably ignore it unless I went head over heels for it, in which case I WILL go back and listen to all of them. (Why hello Rhythm and Blues, you punched me in the face and I now listen to every song even vaguely mentioned in the story or A/N, you’re that good, it’s so fucking good guys, I can’t stop talking about this fucking series it’s just so good?????????) Song fics are also typically in this boat for me. And I want to be really clear, not fics where a character is singing in the fic with lyrics written out. That doesn’t bother me, that song is now effectively part of the story and draws me in. But if it’s paragraphs of description before suddenly cutting it’s annoying. Why, oh why, do I put up with this misery? Still looking for a reason For now it is a mystery to me Why, oh why, do I put up with this misery? Still looking for a reason But for now it's ancient history to me

So yeah I’m making an example to complain about the example. 

But question. 

Was that needed? 

All I did was make overly explicit my feelings in this text that was already there in what I’d written. Song fics feel to me like writers who aren’t confident that their writing is good/understandable/relatable and so they are desperately throwing someone else’s creation into their own in the hopes the reader will get it. Friend, I promise you, we’ll get it without the song! The song lyrics detract when they’re just floating out there, and have taken goods fics and made them frustrating. Either that or you think you’re so amazing that your shit don’t stink and the rest of us idiots can choke because of your brilliance. I’ve found several song fics that if I copy and paste them into a word document and delete the song out, I really enjoyed the fic itself on it’s own merits in a way I literally couldn’t with the lyrics in there. Again, if you are weaving music into your fic, weave it in. Have characters sing, write the lyrics out as a character is listening to the music, quote the song in your fic (preferably without it being super obvious. I’m not saying my take on that was the best, but I did write a Catradora fic on giftly request based on a song and I 100% used lyrics from it in my prose and built my whole plot around it without breaking out to quote the song explicitly), just do something that’s not, like, punching me in the face because “clearly I couldn’t get it” or from a fear that “they won’t understand”. At best you seem insecure and unsure about your story, which is fantastic without the song. At worst it seems like you’re saying your fic is so beyond the average reader that we would never understand your vision without someone else’s original content in it.

[rogueobservation]

BLACKBIRD: CHAPTER TWO

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Before there was a Black Widow, there was a Blackbird; the most talented and famed spy of the Red Room and Hydra’s darling, Valerie. She was Steve Rogers’s greatest love and the Winter Soldier’s partner-in-crime. With the disappearance of Bucky Barnes and the fall of Hydra, Steve finally learns the truth and lies behind his oldest friend and his best girl.

Warnings: Angsty as hell. Bad Language. Description of past physical abuse, wounds, violence, and murder. 

A/N: And she lives! First off, I want to give a shout out to the most wonderful and patient person, @rogrsnbarnes​, who’s been such an absolute crutch these past few weeks. Wouldn’t have made it to the finish line without you, angel. Thank you. Second, I’m so, so sorry for the delay. This was an absolute beast of a chapter that I could never (and still don’t believe) get perfect. But writing isn’t supposed to be perfect, is it? (Also, new Blackbird banners! Hope you like them. It’s sort of a summary for what’s to happen each chapter.) I put in a little easter egg for Blackbird’s spinoff series at the end. Blink and you’ll miss it. (Hint: You can read the parallel version of the end scene here.) Feedback and comments are always much appreciated! Please let me know what you think! Enjoy!

JOIN THE TAG LIST | MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER

Previously...

It happened so quickly. Valerie stumbled backward, smashing into the television hard with her back, hand tightening around the trigger of her gun as she raised it at him. She glanced at his outstretched hand with her wide, horrified eyes. He hadn’t even touched her. Her breathing was shaky and uneven. Time seemed to stop and for a second her mask slipped, showing Steve the broken woman that hid underneath. It mirrored the expression Bucky had given him on the Helicarrier four weeks earlier. The decades of being with Hydra had changed something in her — fractured something deep inside both of them. And it was all noticeable in their eyes. 

Her voice betrayed her and broke, “Do not touch me.”

Her eyes met his and goosebumps went down his neck. He was startled by her reaction. Every nerve in his body called on him to take her in his arms, comfort her and never let go, but he knew he couldn’t. She didn’t want it.

They watched for what seemed to be a lifetime as she gathered together her pieces again, tucking them back into place and slipping back on her stoic expression as if nothing had happened. Pushing herself off the tv, she walked towards the front door, “Goodbye, Steven.”

Steve didn’t move an inch, staring at the spot where she had stood until the door shut behind her and the echoing sound of her heels down the hallway faded. He looked at his reflection in the television screen and let out a loud sigh, burying his face in his hands and falling back on the couch.

In the quiet of his apartment, he wondered if he’d ever see her again.

London, England. October 1943.

Tender Carolina blue and honey orange spread across the skyline, clouds smudged against the horizon like white streaks of paint. Rotting leaves skipped down the cracked sidewalk, crunching underneath his heavy boots as he went. Even a few doors down, Steve could hear the faint tune of a piano and the off-tune rendition of a Bing Crosby song come from inside the crowded bar.

The sudden neon of Whip & Fiddle’s sign shined in firey red and yellow against the shadowy building; a beacon of promised warmth against the frigid October weather. He took the stairs two-at-a-time, pulling open the massive oak door. Heat rushed out, flooding his system. He sighed in bliss.

It was packed wall-to-wall; six dozen soldiers squeezed into a single room with their comrades and female companions. They were packed in tight from the circular bar top in the center of the room to the half-timbered walls of the popular watering hole. It was a vast sea of tan, green, and brown with spots of color spread throughout from taffeta dresses. Laughter and smoke drifted amongst the crowd. A steady buzz of voices over the need for a drink and a break from the war.

It was a rare sight, something Steve didn’t know he was missing until then.

“Hey, Stevie!”

His head whipped around, drawn towards the back of the room, catching against a pair of smiling, cobalt eyes. Bucky Barnes was waving, standing at a round table, a dimpled grin splitting his face, pint of beer in hand, white froth teetering over the edge with his movements. Steve returned the gesture and started to weave through the crowd to him... until he saw her.

He stopped short.

Her right arm brushed against the side of Bucky’s slacks, slim fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass of water in front of her. She was mid-conversation, talking across the table to Gabe Jones and Jacques Dernier; full, carefully drawn, ruby lips moving rapidly in perfect French.

The other commandoes sat around the table, leaned in close to her, mesmerized.

She had that classic kind of beauty. Dark. Enigmatic. Like some lost Hollywood actress. Thick, dark hair cascaded down her back in waves; a stark contrast against the baby blue dress she wore. The neckline was low, letting him glimpse at the gold crucifix that dangled about her neck, twinkling each time it caught in the lambent, gaslit lantern that sat on the center of the table.

Jacques replied and a peal of laughter bubbled up her throat, smooth and honeyed, nose crinkling in the most wonderful way possible. A warmth came from Steve's bones then and spread throughout his body like a sudden fire, heart beating fierce against the cage of his ribs.

He had never seen anyone as maddeningly beautiful as she was before.

Shouting his name again, Bucky’s voice knocked him out of his stupor. Steve forced himself to look away from the women, meeting Bucky’s gaze once more; amusement danced in the depth of those familiar eyes, a knowing smirk plastered across his face. Blood rushed to Steve’s ears, turning them the same shade of red as his windburnt cheeks. Busted.

Quickly, he shouldered the rest of the way through the crush of people.

“See something you like, pal?”

Steve rolled his eyes at the quip, pulling Bucky in for a brotherly hug. “Shut up.”

Bucky laughed and clapped him between his shoulder blades as his gaze drifted down to the woman. Her conversation was abruptly cut as Jacques and Gabe greeted the Captain. The woman looked over her shoulder, blinking up at the Brooklyn boys with an elegant, arched brow.

Steve’s mouth parted in awe. She had black eyes; so molasses brown to the point that they resembled two pools of ink, devouring light in their intensity. They were completely hypnotic, capturing his full attention instantly. He’d never seen anything quite like it.

“Steve Rogers, meet Vallerina Boschetti,” Bucky introduced. “Vallerina, Steve.”

She pressed her lips together, glancing at Bucky. “Vallerina? What are you? My father?” she chided in thick accented English, voice low and velvety. A beat of silence passed as her eyes shifted to Steve. For an instant, she studied him, a look of appraisal, drinking him in brazenly.

A shiver raced up his spine as he felt himself flush.

There was a sudden surge of subconsciousness that came over him as he stood there before her in his stiff Army dress uniform; shiny metals and decorations worn on his pressed-to-perfection Ike jacket out of pure respect for his country rather than his pride. But then she gave a quiet hum of approval and all his anxiety subsided as quickly as it had came. Her eyes lifted to meet his once again, the most exquisite smile he’d ever seen blooming across her face. She extended a hand.

“Call me Val.”

Brooklyn, New York. 

His eyes jolted open, automatically searching the room in a bleary gaze. It was dark except for the black-and-white episode of I Love Lucy that mutely flickered across the television, illuminating his living room dimly. For an instant, he was in a world without a decade... then the memories returned – the coldness of the ice, the lonely black oblivion, the future – and he gathered his bearings. 

A sheen of sweat clung to his skin; white t-shirt stuck to his broad chest. His right hand was clenched into a fist, painfully pressed against his cheek, propping up his head, elbow on one of the cushiony leather arms of his desk chair. His back ached from sitting in one place for too long and the watch on his wrist said it was forty-five minutes past three in the morning. 

Jesus, he thought, time for bed. But when he went to stand something shifted in his lap. Glancing down, he saw it. Her file — Val’s file — and recalled what he had been doing. Rereading; going over every detail that the file had to offer for the hundredth time. 

It was open to a report from late July of 1988 after they both had come from a stint in cryostasis. N. L. was written at the bottom (the initials, Natasha had said, of a handler). 

In the dim, he could make out the words:

Oh, the bird! God. There was a slip-up when we pulled her from cryo today. She had been asked twice and refused twice to differentiate for us whether Sergeant Barnes or the Asset held the reigns upon being pulled from cryo. Instead, the bird snatched the pen out from Dr. Klemme’s lab coat pocket, using it to kill five guards within a ten-second timeframe. A pen. Only a pen… with a speed that could have rivaled Hermes. Under different circumstances, I would have praised her for such a thrilling act, if it had happened during a mission, but she rebelled and killed five of ours instead. Several more guards died while trying to restrain her, not to mention the fact that she tried to make a move for me with her stolen and bloodied ballpoint pen. A surprising act, I might add. It’s been several years since she’s tried anything against me… 

Punishment was swiftly issued for both her and the Asset (I would have put her in the hole if the mission to Pakistan wasn’t so pressing – so she might learn the severity of her actions – but equal punishment to the Asset will do just as well, if not quicker. To hurt him is to hurt her). 

That managed to put her back into right mind. Training was followed directly afterward and, despite the fresh wounds, her fighting capabilities were more flawless than ever. I’m always (as are the handlers before me, no doubt) in awe at the effortless talent she exhibits. Almost near inhuman. It shouldn’t be real, but it is. She’s flesh and blood and mortal and Hydra’s… To me, it seems she doesn’t comprehend the extent of her supreme talent still. Not even after all these decades with it. Not how agile or graceful — better than any of the Bolshoi — or how she’s the most deadly weapon this green Earth has ever seen. She doesn’t see how easy she turns violence into an art form... Oh, our very own Angel of Death... Yes…

Steve’s eyes strayed from the text to the left-hand corner of the report where two yellowed photographs were. They had been taken after the “punishment” had been issued. Less gruesome than the other photos in the files, Val’s and Bucky’s, but managed to haunt him more than the others had; as much to do with the way she stared unflinchingly into the camera, the emotionless look held in the fated depths of her inky eyes, as if she was numb to the violence against them both, and how tightly she clung to Bucky in the aftermath. Along with the report from N.L, there had been a detailed description of what the “punishment” had entailed. 

They had left Bucky clothed in his regulation suit, while Valerie had been forcefully stripped naked by the guards. Then, they were restrained to metal chairs opposite one another. Valerie had been blasted several times with scalding hot water. In between blasts, she was forced to watch as a guard beat Bucky black-and-blue with his baton, which earned him a dislocated shoulder. She had been beaten too, after him, gaining a handful of dark bruises and a few broken blood vessels from a blow to the head, turning her right eye a violent shade of scarlet. 

Child’s play compared to the other punishments that they endured while in the service of Hydra.

The foremost photo clipped to the report was grainy and faded. Val was mid-scream, steam radiating off her skin from the recent blast of scalding water. Her dark hair was stuck to her face and she was yanking on her restraints, trying to free herself, as the guard’s baton landed on Bucky’s shoulder. In the other, only the back of Bucky’s head could be seen. Val’s hands were gripping his back, holding him to her protectively, glaring at the camera. If only looks could kill...

It was a stark contrast to the photos that were clipped to the next report. They had been taken a day after the beating. She was in the middle of masterfully pulling off yet another mission; schmoozing a few members of the Pakistan parliament in a beautiful velvet gown, diamonds dripping from her ears, while at a ball. 

Her bloodied eye and once-marred skin were now back to normal — erased in the night by the enhanced serum flowing through her veins. A charming red-lipped smile graced her features, beguiling the men that stood around her, staring at her with a moth-caught-in-a-flame look. Entranced. Completely oblivious that a snake had invaded their garden. 

Once upon a time, Steve thought, I had been in their place.

On that frigid October night seventy years ago, he and Val had talked about everything under the sun; easily sliding in and out of a plethora of topics, exchanging laughter and stories. She had spun him a picture of her life before the war (a story that he had once believed but now knew was pure fiction); that she was originally from Spain, but defected to England, moving to London, when she was ten with her father. With the war in full bloom, after she had turned of-age, she went to service for her adopted country, starting as a switchboard operator, but quickly advanced, becoming the private secretary for Colonel Chester Phillips at twenty-three, traveling with him and the 107th Infantry Regiment during which she met Bucky, quickly becoming close friends. 

Steve had been so smitten with her by the end of her story that he couldn’t remember asking her if she wanted to dance nor when she agreed. But he reminded vividly everything afterward; the brightness of her grin, the way her dress felt under his fingers, the ivy-white river of her scalp between dark locks, the dip in her hips — everything. For him, the night had seemed like one long, drawn-out moment and still, it hadn’t been long enough. Almost dreamlike. 

One second he had been dancing with her and the next, the commandos were deciding to call it a night and he was interjecting as Bucky offered to walk her back to her apartment, her coat already in his hand. No, I’ll walk her, Steve had said. It’s on the way back to mine anyway. But it wasn’t and Bucky knew it though he said nothing. Even now Steve’s heart raced at the thought of how the rest of the night had went; the charged silence between them as they walked back towards her apartment; the way her eyes glittered with the shared hope for something more as she invited him upstairs for a cup of coffee to warm him up before the walk home. Oh, please it’s the least I could do… 

Needless to say, that night had been memorable and it hadn’t been for the cup of coffee. 

It was so cliche, even to him, but he had been shamelessly in love with her by dawn. 

It was hard not to be.

She was gorgeous and refreshing and vivid and so human with effortless charisma and charm. She was just... magnetic. That smile, those ink-black eyes. No one stood a chance against her. Not even the legendary Captain America. 

Steve liked to believe that she had felt the same way about him… but then again she hadn’t been real. The woman he had met that night, Vallerina Boschetti, wasn’t a real person. No, it had all just been a smokescreen, a ploy. The first alias of her blooming career as a Hydra spy. Of the woman he had fallen so hopelessly in love with seventy years ago. 

Steve threw the file down with a sigh and walked around his desk, crossing through the living room and into the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee, all thoughts of going back to bed thrown out the window. He tried to distract himself from his thoughts by making breakfast even though it was such an ungodly hour of the night. He fixed several pieces of that and a giant bowl of cereal. He ate in the dark, at his large, glass dining room table that sat off to the right of the kitchen and tried focusing on the muted episode of I Love Lucy that played on the opposite side of the room, but soon gave up as the thoughts of Val nipped at his mind like a small dog.

There were so many things about her that were different, but outwardly she had looked the same. One of the most notable differences about her – apart from the fact that she was now alive and that he now understood her to be a Hydra spy and not a secretary for the SSR – was the name change; from Vallerina to the more modern, Valerie. (All her alias started with Val.) 

If he was honest, he was still coming to grips with it all. 

The name change, the occupation change. The fact that she was a legend to the intelligence community, a Hydra ghost, one of the most wanted people in history, and alive. She and Bucky were alive – risen from the dead! But they weren’t the same people he loved and remembered. No. They were entirely different. Val had been a ruse all along, reclaimed in late 1944 by Hydra and had not gone “missing” like he had thought. Bucky had been denied of death after his fall from that damned train, had his mind stolen from him, and against his will was turned into a ruthless killing machine. Both of them had been dragged down the furthest corners of hell, molded like clay pottery into two of the most feared people in history; hardened with callous memories by the cruel hands of their handlers, painted in the blood of their victims. 

It had nearly torn him apart to learn what had become of them while he had been under the ice. God, when Natasha had handed him those files–

Natasha, he suddenly remembered. Fuck.

He had completely forgotten to tell her of the developments — that Val had turned up in his apartment. He had been in such a state after she had left, half-believing that what had happened had even been real. Steve ran a hand through his hair and swore. 

He, Nat, and Sam had formed an unofficial search party for Val and Bucky after they had vanished into thin air after D.C, scouring their files for clues to where they could have gone; searched Alexander Pierce's house, finding his home-office and bedroom ransacked. The first thing they had checked was the security surveillance that covered the grounds of his house. They had caught a glimpse of her walking into the house through the front door in her bloodied uniform before the camera feed cut to black. They had searched what had been left of Pierce’s scattered possessions, finding that she had stolen several files off his computer and clothes from his closet, both men’s and women’s (It had appeared to look that Valerie had been living in his house; her shampoo in his shower, a few tubes of lipstick, stray hairs of hers on the sheets). 

What they had found in Pierce’s house had been the only lead in a string of dead leads. 

Well, until she popped up in his living room two nights ago. 

God, he really needed to tell Natasha and Sam about the developments. 

Steve sat at his table a moment longer, making his mind then and there before quickly getting up, putting his bowl of half-eaten cereal in the sink and going to get dressed. 

Hell’s Kitchen, New York.

It was ten minutes past five in the morning when he knocked on her door. A long moment passed before he heard the faintest hint of activity come from inside; the soft, barely audible sound of bare feet against wooden flooring. Another minute came and went before the bolt turned and the door opened. Natasha Romanoff was dressed in a silk royal blue robe, short red hair tousled from sleep. The Glock she carried with her daily was in her right hand, ready for use if necessary. Steve gave her an apologetic look, immediately regretting coming. 

“I–”

“Who is it?”

To Steve’s utmost surprise, Sam Wilson came around the corner from the hallway, absently scratching at his bare chest with a half-asleep expression. He was dressed in only a pair of boxers and came to a complete halt when he saw the Captain in the doorway, visibly sobering up.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hey, man.”

An embarrassed heat graced Steve’s features as he glanced between the two of them with a wide-eyed, almost scandalized expression. Natasha didn’t even blink, unfazed. She watched as Steve opened his mouth, then shut it before opening it again. “I’m not even going to ask,” he said briskly. “I–” He glanced down the empty corridor and then back at her. “Can I come in?”

It took one look at Steve’s face for her to know something serious was going on; drawn brows, tempestuous eyes, the reluctant expression on his face. Without a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door wider. He stepped in from the corridor, awkwardly standing off to the side as Natasha shut the door and padded across her dark apartment to the kitchen. Flipping on the bright overhead light, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m making tea. You want some?”

He shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. His gaze drifted around her apartment as she began fiddling with a copper-colored kettle in the kitchen. He had never been inside her apartment before though he had been at her building several times, picking her up from the lobby on his way to the tower before a mission and dropped her off when they came back but she had never invited him up. He didn’t blame her though or asked why. He understood the need for something normal in their line of work. A piece of their life that was apart from work. 

It was a reasonably sized space; spartan and impeccably clean with warm tan walls throughout. As far as he could see, it was bare of any decorations save for a coatrack by the front door (with Sam’s coat hanging up). Two black leather couches sat across from the front door, in the living room, around a dusty flat-screen tv with a matching black coffee table and a large Persian rug. 

Steve caught Sam disappear down the hallway out of the corner of his eye. He reappeared a moment later in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and leaned against the entrance into the kitchen. Natasha turned on the stove for the kettle before opening a cupboard near her head. 

Steve shifted from one foot to the other, not sure how to broach the information he had come to share without alarming them and thoroughly pissing off Nat. But then he figured getting it over with and saying it bluntly – let the chips fall where they may – was the best way possible. 

“So, uh,” he said, at last. “Last night… Val visited me.”

The mug Natasha had reached out to grab dropped to the countertop with a loud BANG! It had been a miracle, Steve thought later, that the mug hadn’t shattered into a million pieces then. 

Natasha’s head snapped around, her surprised cat-green eyes connecting with his. “What?”

The Bronx, New York.

A sudden slant of bluish light came from the boarded-up windows of her safe house, aiding her as she padded across the room where a large duffel bag sat beside a mattress on the floor. She fished out an empty thermos from inside along with a packet of instant coffee and a half-empty bottle of water, pouring the last of its contents inside the thermos with the powdered caffeine. 

Pulling out the switchblade from her front pocket, Valerie stirred together everything as she made the small strides back to the center of the room, retaking her seat on the decades-old scarred oak flooring. She crisscrossed her legs and absently wiped the switchblade against her faded cut-offs before flicking it shut, shoving it back into her front pocket. Her black eyes narrowed as she refocused on the huge world map taped to the exposed brick wall across from her; meticulously color-coded pins were tacked to specific points of interest all across it: white for the last locations of high-rank Hydra officials; green for sleeper agents; yellow for safe houses; blue for known active bases; pink for abandoned ones. A strip of paper was tacked to each location with a list of names of players that were, to her best guess, still at the locations. 

She had spent her first two days in New York coordinating the names and locations with the files she had stolen from Alexander Pierce’s house and the wealth of knowledge she had amassed over the seventy-plus years while in the service of Hydra as their Blackbird.

In a different world, she would have been labeled as an information junkie. 

But it was just a habit she had been forced to learn when she had trained as a spy; to learn as much about your targets and surroundings as possible. She did it almost subconsciously now. 

She knew a lot about a great many things, both useless and important. Stock prices, general history, on and on, but what she was best at was Hydra. Off the top of her head, Valerie could list each person in the organization, both current and past, all the way back to the beginning; give their full name, rank, notable facts. She knew of every base ever inhabited by Hydra. She was, quite simply, the encyclopedia of all-things Hydra. 

Valerie's gaze shifted to the right side of the map where Russia sat. A new white pin was tacked to the city of Penza where, six days prior, Kolesov Petrovich, the highest-ranked Hydra official, who had been set to take over as the next leader of the organization, had been murdered. 

Three other white pins sat on the floor in front of her alongside a sheet of paper detailing the rest of the information she had obtained from Steve Rogers two nights ago about the three other murders of high-ranked Hydra officials that had occurred in the four weeks since D.C: 

Doctor Jakob Klemme: top-scientist from 1967 until desertion in 1988. Turned up 26 years later, dead, killed by unknown in an abandoned base somewhere in Europe. 

Stephen Hersh: originally Dr. Klemme’s assistant. Took over Klemme’s role after Klemme’s desertion in 1988. Hersh was taken out of Soldat’s close circle in 1998. Has not been seen nor heard of in several years. Last known whereabouts: base in Odesa. Turned up recently, killed by unknown in an abandoned base somewhere in Europe.

Emil Behm: general from 1992 to death by unknown in an unknown abandoned base in Europe.

She had no specific location and no details regarding the cause of death. It didn’t surprise her that Steve (nor Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson. She knew they were working with him) couldn't see what was happening. They couldn’t see it. They didn’t have the knowledge that would let them see even the faintest hint of what was happening. They were most likely brushing it off as an inside job, perhaps the uprising of lesser agents that sought revenge over their higher-ups in Hydra after the failure of Project Insight. But she knew better.

The four murders had more in common than that the victims were important officials within Hydra and had been left in abandoned bases. No. They were all apart of the line of succession. 

A secret group of elite high-rank generals and top-scientists known as the Hydra five. They were the second-highest level of the complex, monarchy-like power structure within Hydra, acting as counsel to the head leader of the organization. 

For the last decade, that had been Alexander Pierce, but with his death during Project Insight, the next member in the order of succession would have taken his place automatically. The lucky man: Kolesov Petrovich, one of the four dead officials. With his death, leadership would have passed onto Jakob Klemme, also one of the four dead officials. On and on, down the order of succession. Each high-ranked official dead except the last one: Ben Krüger, a top-level scientist. 

Whoever was murdering the officials were going down the order of succession, leaving Krüger the next target. But the strange thing – the thing she couldn’t understand – was that only people who were apart of the line of succession knew of the list (the only exception to the rule being her; she had found out about the list early-eighties by a former member and handler). Now, it might have been possible for Krüger to be the killer but was very, very unlikely. Krüger was not only squeamish to the sight of blood but near blind. And he was old – ancient. Perhaps he told someone about the list, hired them to kill the people on the list so he could be next, be leader. 

Valerie had a hard time imagining that. 

Something was eluding her. Something just beyond the surface of what she could see, right in front of her nose; so close she could sense shapes, but couldn’t bring the picture into focus. Who could it be? An ambitious, rogue agent? Someone not even Hydra? Or was this something entirely different? There was something about this, the four murders, that made her uneasy. 

Valerie focused her gaze left, on Europe, and sat still while her brain worked at top speed. 

Klemme, Behm, Hersh, Petrovich, she thought. Three left in abandoned bases in Europe, one in Penza, Russia. Penza base was abandoned in 1981. Not a place of significance, certainly. Why there? Why any of the bases?

She could feel it in her gut, that nagging instinct, that something was deeply wrong but what?

Sighing, Valerie sipped her coffee. 

Hell’s Kitchen, New York.

“Do you know what they taught us in the Red Room?”

Natasha Romanoff asked in a neutral tone, steadily looking Steve Rogers in the eye. It was a rhetorical question, he knew, so he waited silently and met her gaze. She was sat across from him at the breakfast nook in her tiny kitchen, betraying nothing of what she felt. He knew her well enough to know she was upset with him for waiting so long before coming to tell her about Val’s sudden reappearance. They didn’t keep secrets from each other. Especially about this.

After the confession, Natasha had sprung on him, hounding him relentlessly with one question after another until his brain felt like it was going to split in two. The hairline cracks of a headache had begun behind his eye by the time he was walking them through everything, giving a word-for-word recount of his exchange with Valerie. All except for the part where she had reeled away from his touch as if it was a flame come to burn her. It hadn’t felt right to share that with them.

"Psychological manipulation,” Natasha continued after a long moment. “We were trained to determine a target’s weakness, exploit that weakness, and extract information. And Valerie’s the greatest at it. It’s the reason she’s the crown jewel of Hydra. It’s why the intelligence community believes that she’s the greatest spy to ever live.” She leaned over the table on elbows. “She’s your Achilles heel, Steve, and she knows it. Do you get that all she had to do was glance at you and she was able to gauge how you felt about her? – that you’re angry and sad and love her still. She used it all against you and you never realized it.” Nat paused. “I’m sorry, Steve, but you need to understand that she’s not the woman you love or the one you remember. She’s the Blackbird of Hydra! A weapon and most importantly, a spy. You cannot trust a thing she says.”

“Good liars stick close to the truth, Nat.”

“Maybe, Steve, but there’s a very big difference between a good liar and her. I mean, we’re talking about the most elite spy to ever walk, Steve. Not an ordinary person. You have a better chance of being struck by lightning than you figuring out whether or not she’s lying. I wouldn’t even be able to tell. She’s that good.” Natasha said. “All we know is that she baited you with what we can only speculate is the truth – that she’s been searching for Petrovich since D.C.”

“Sounds to me like she’s going after Hydra. Revenge, maybe?” Sam asked. He was sat beside Natasha, calm and leaned back with his arms folded over his chest. He glanced from Steve to Nat and Steve saw something akin to love in his eyes. He couldn’t believe that they had been seeing each other, possibly even dating, right under his nose for god knew how long.

Natasha shook her head. “No, revenge isn’t her style.” A few seconds of silence passed before she spoke again. “We can’t trust a thing she says, but let’s assume for a minute here that what she said about not being with Barnes is true. That means whatever she’s doing, she’s doing it alone. What happened to Barnes? Where did he go? Why isn’t he with her? I don’t think she’d leave him without good cause to. According to the files, they’ve nearly inseparable since 1945.”

“Maybe they got separated during all the chaos in D.C,” Sam offered. 

“No, they were together,” Steve said. “She grabbed women’s and men’s clothes from Pierce’s house after D.C. Something happened from that point to two days ago when she showed up.”

A long pause drifted through the room. Minutes dripped by until it hit Natasha. Of course. “She always puts his safety first, their files show as much... she willingly left him, making them both not only harder to track but keeping Barnes out of danger. She wouldn’t risk him getting caught – or his freedom, more importantly – while she’s hunting down who she needs from Hydra.”

“So,” Steve broke in, piecing it all together, “she’s cleaning house then – finishing what we started in D.C. Petrovich would have had the latest information about the sleeper agents that are still out there, all the high-rank officials and officers that pose a threat to the both of them. Petrovich would have led her right to everyone. We know she stole files from Pierce’s house, but those would be weeks old at this point. Almost useless now. Hydra’s agents would have scattered after everything, gone into hiding like she said. We've been data mining Hydra’s file since D.C. We have the latest intel. She broke into my apartment in hopes to find some of it.”

The Bronx, New York.

The beginnings of dawn burst through the cracks in the panels of wood nailed to the windows. 

Muttering a swear in frustration, Valerie rubbed her smarting eyes with thumb and forefinger. She glanced once more at the map, hardly able to concentrate. How long had she been awake? Three? Four days? She didn’t know, only that her body ached with how exhausted she was, begging her to go to sleep. Valerie glanced at Penza, Russia, again before taking a deep breath and decided it was best if she called it a night – or day, at this point – and resign for now.

Leaving her thermos behind on the floor, Valerie padded across the opposite side of the room where her mattress sat, crawling beneath the single thick blanket that laid on top. 

She was asleep within thirty seconds.

Washington, D.C.

Four weeks ago: January 13th, 2014. 

“–and I know you don’t want to have to listen to her – you hardly know her – but trust me on this, okay? She knows exactly what to do. I trust her with my life, therefore you should as well.”

Her brows creased together as she looked up beneath her thick lashes at him. Bucky hadn’t said a word since they had arrived at the Smithsonian, to the Captain America exhibit. A protest, she guessed, of his disproval to this plan. He never needed to say anything when he was with her. She had learned long ago, in their seventy-odd years of partnership, how to communicate with him without ever having to exchange a single word. He could express so much through his eyes.

And right now, she could see a storm building behind them; dark clouds rolling in. He didn’t like this plan of hers in the least bit, they read. He had expressed as much back at the motel. They had stayed awake the entire night, going back and forth over the subject (mostly her than him).

Valerie wetted her lips and sighed, crossing her arms. “You and I both know that I don’t want to leave you, but this is how it has to be,” she said carefully. “I need you to understand — for both our sakes — that I’m not abandoning you, okay? I promised you seventy years ago that I would protect you above everything and I plan to keep that promise. It’s my job to protect both of you, and if we stay together, then we’re making it easier for them to find us. If they were to take you again, we both what they’ll do – finish what he didn’t all those years ago. I don’t know what I would do then because I–” Her voice cut abruptly. Looking away for a moment, she recollected herself then continued. “I cannot lose either of you… You’re my family, Buck – I’m your family.”

The crestfallen look on his face deepened as her words sunk in, cobalt eyes darkening as his newfound emotions surged within him. It was only a little less than twenty-four hours since the beginning of the end; when she found Bucky after the Helicarriers had fallen from the sky. She didn’t know what propelled her to go, but she had strangely found him back at the bank where Hydra had been keeping him for the last month-in-a-half since they had arrived in D.C. 

He had been soaked-to-the-bone from the river, surrounded by the dozen dead bodies of the technicians and soldiers that had stayed behind at the bank for his return. But Project Insight had failed and he – her Bucky – had been rattled out from the depths of his subconscious by none other than Steve Rogers on a godforsaken Halicarrier. 

For the first time in two decades, he was himself again. Albeit, a fractured and damaged version, but himself nonetheless. His mind was a fried circuit, but amid the broken fragments and scattered pieces, one thing remained unscathed in the rubble. Val. His V. Memories of her were whole and intact. Some from a time long ago, before the horrors of Hydra, while others… 

The occasional sharp edge of a memory, blurred slightly by all the blood, all the bodies, all the anguish caused by their hands…

Valerie saw the familiar distant in his cloudy eyes and put a hand on his arm, bringing him from his thoughts. His voice when he spoke was rough and low. “What if you don’t come back?”

It was a fair question. Something they both had been tiptoeing around for hours, but it was inevitable. 

“Look at me.” When he didn’t, she reached up on the tips of her toes, cupped the sides of his face, gently turning his head down to look at her. “We’ve been through far worse than this – been in situations that were similar and maybe weren’t for as long, but… this is familiar,” she said softly. “I can’t promise you that I’ll ever return nor that I won’t die in the process, but know that I will be doing everything within my power to find my way back to you. As soon as I can.”

Valerie searched his eyes and opened her mouth as if to stay something else, but nothing came. She sighed then and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug. His strong arms automatically locked around her waist, holding her to him as close as possible, both grasping at the sense of security that the other gave – the feeling of home. When she tried to pull away, his grip tightened, his face getting lost deeper in the crook of her neck. Tears brimmed her eyes, but she blinked them away, pulling herself together for him. Always for him.

She mirrored his actions, fisting the back of his jacket tightly, tucking her face into his neck, letting his smell engulf her — leather, gunpowder, something so distinctly Bucky — as her left hand reached up, scratching gently at the nape of his neck in the soothing manner he liked. 

“It’s still you and me… longer than forever,” she mumbled against his ear before drawing back, looking at him one last time. His stormy blue eyes held so much emotion. It was overwhelming, trying to convey everything that he couldn’t say; speaking volumes without ever opening his mouth. Her hand lightly skimmed the harsh line of his scruffy jaw before lastly cupping his cheek. He leaned into her touch. “I love you, Buck.”

“Love you, too, V.”

A watery smile crept on her face. She was so convinced that James Buchanan Barnes was the other half of her soul; her brother-in-arms and partner until the end of time. And now she had to go and cut the invisible string that had threaded them together for the past seven decades. 

This is how it has to be, she told herself.

Leaning up on the tips of her toes again, she pressed a kiss right below his cheekbone, lingering for a long minute, selfishly trying to hold on to the last piece of solace that was left for her in this bleak world. It took her a minute to muster to the strength to pry herself away from him, ignoring the way his hands reached out to grab her as she walked away.

Her stoic expression slipped on with practiced ease as she pulled down the aviators that rested on the top of her head. She paused in the crowd for half a second, casting a glance over her shoulder, catching a pair of pale blue eyes that watched her from the back of the room. They belonged to a short, dark-haired woman with doll-like features, who wore a faded jean jacket and sported the same forlorn expression as Bucky. The ache in Valerie’s chest worsened. 

Afterward, she couldn’t remember anything that happened after she had forced herself to look away from those pale blue eyes but the pain of separation; torn apart into a thousand pieces. Everything blurred, became indistinct as she was turned into bloody confetti, melting into the current of people as naturally as one breathed. Out of the exhibit, away from them. Her family. 

***

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future chapters! Feedback and comments are always appreciated! Thank you! :)

***

Tagged: @dontforgetthepieh @softhairbarnes @alexfayer @jalapenobarnes @apersonwithhope @rogrsnbarnes @tomhardy41 @dilaila95 @ramblerumble 

[topbtcgame2067qo-blog]

Outbreak in Wuhan, The far east | What is the chain group currency circle carrying out? The WeChat community becomes a ``face mask smuggling team'', and main mining device factories turn off because of shutdown

China is currently experiencing the coronavirus pandemic. Wuhan, the epicenter of the epidemic, gifts a scene of a dead city, without people for the streets, closed factory gates, and suspension of currency markets dealings. As this global emergency gets hotter, many People are beginning to be concerned that this may have a negative impact on the cryptocurrency marketplace. However, the price tag on cryptocurrency keeps rising. What have these people in the foreign currency circle completed in this catastrophe? Wuhan pneumonia started to spread in Dec last year, and it also began to intensify in The month of january this year. As the epidemic ongoing to spread, metropolitan areas including Wuhan and Hangzhou have already been closed down in order to control the situation; the Chinese govt has also recently admitted to insufficient supplies and The outside world is requesting help. While main companies donate components, what's the currency group doing? Business Ideas Program Online in the foreign currency circle is changed right into a ��mask smuggling group��. The Decrypt information pointed out that numerous cryptocurrency-related WeChat groups, in addition to posting various busting news, currency company statements, etc., may also charge The field of customer service, and then to transaction articles, project start, cryptocurrency knowledge, etc., supply one-stop information needed by group members. However, because the outbreak of the Wuhan malware outbreak, numerous WeChat groups possess begun to talk about another issue which has never been stated but is more practical in today's situation: "How exactly to smuggle masks and other medical tools?" Related topics: Legendary Investor | Ray Dalio of Bridgewater Fund: A preliminary analysis from the impact of the Wuhan Coronavirus for the global economy Related topic: Are you currently nevertheless in Bitcoin? Right now China has recently changed its trend for shoe-frying - five minutes to comprehend the trend for shoe-frying that developed from the "ICO model" Why smuggle? Judging from the fact that Wuhan and Hangzhou have been closed down one after another, this not merely restricts the access of the populace, but also helps prevent the entrance of daily equipment, including medical products. Because front-line healthcare personnel need to be subjected to high-risk environments for a long time, masks, healthcare caps, surgical dresses and other devices must pass tight inspections of nationwide standards. Although this guarantees the safety of frontline employees, it also can make many resources extremely hard Quickly donate to disaster-stricken families in need through official channels. Therefore, to be able to send out the masks to Wuhan, WeChat grew to become the key. It is documented that a foreign currency investor in Thailand occurred ahead into contact with another mask seller in Thailand, so he was inquired to smuggle the masks from Bangkok to Tokyo and Hangzhou, and then send them all the best way to a medical center in Wuhan. . And all these smuggling processes are usually with the "friends of buddies" in the encrypted currency WeChat group. What's amazing will be that this conduct is like the appearance of the WeChat group that has been a decentralized autonomous organization. The internal people interact for the same goal to create their own efforts; of course, Traders within the cryptocurrency circle nevertheless account for most, but it is actually rare to see such a harmonious scene. Related subjects: Will the Wuhan pneumonia epidemic affect the market? Professional: China is vital towards the cryptocurrency industry, but Bitcoin will be too special Related subjects: Sino-US business war? Or Chinese language New 12 months? The reasoning behind "USDT's continued negative high quality" Along with donations, what else can cryptocurrency businesses do? When SARS broke out in 2003, once the last large-scale epidemic broke out, most families didn't even have broadband Internet access. Smart mobile phones were only just coming out, and there is still quite a distance to go before popularization. On the other hand, the current era of one mobile phone , It also allows us to witness record-breaking online donations through WeChat Spend, Alipay, and remittance, which of course also contains cryptocurrency. As of today, more than 30 blockchain and cryptocurrency companies have launched help programs, like the world's most famous cryptocurrency exchanges Binance, Huobi, Okex, etc. Many companies Choose to contribute in fiat currencies that are familiar to the public, but many companies also increase donations by issuing tokens. And this brings out a long-standing shortcoming of donations-how to monitor the flow of money. Related topics: Milo's stage of watch�UHow to use "blockchain" to resolve the problem of mask supply during the epidemic prevention period? The Red Cross dispute, can the donations and items be delivered to the victims? I believe that the people who are just a little concerned know that the scandals in the charity industry aren't new. In 2011, the Chinese language Red Cross broke out that it had misappropriated donations of kindness to fund Internet celebrities to enjoy a luxurious living; and in this Wuhan pneumonia During the epidemic, a lot of chaos occurred within the donation situation, so the Red Cross, the primary rescue team, has been widely supervised and questioned by the public in this rescue operation. However, for cryptocurrency companies with blockchain traceability technologies, maintaining transparency will be a fairly reasonable requirement. Unfortunately, the distributed ledger technologies (DLT) from the blockchain happens to be difficult to transfer to nongovernmental agencies responsible for disaster relief jobs through basic docking, because many of them do not hold any blockchain system and have not discovered The benefits of blockchain; furthermore, the Chinese govt plays a significant role in materials distribution, but they have not provided substantial support to blockchain donations. With regards to disaster comfort donations, we nevertheless have quite a distance to look, as Binance CEO Changpeng Zhao said on Tweets: "Logistics may be the limitation of the physical globe" Doing our small part. Delivery pickup truck for #Wuhan sponsored by @BinanceBCF. With Chinese Web giants donating within the 100m to 1b range, the lack isn't money, but logistics and products. Physical world restrictions. pic.tweets.com/dBeBQ2SNwG - CZ Binance (@cz_binance) The month of january 30, 2020 There is absolutely no doubt the major mining machinery manufacturers affected by the shutdown haven't any doubt that China's economic situation is being strike from the epidemic. Many little and medium-sized corporations have already suffered bankruptcy due to the shutdown of creation lines; in fact, even Apple ( Large multinational companies such as for example Apple are all facing the issue of insufficient output and struggling to execute functions in China because the doors of these factories in Tiongkok are closed. However, these manpower shortages usually do not appear to be a big problem for cryptocurrency miners. Having said that, there is still news that mining machine manufacturers including MicroBT, Bitmain, and Innosilicon possess issued consumer notices stating that they can respond to local governments in Cina. The pandemic turmoil postponed the New Year's holiday and postponed the delivery of mining machine chips; according to miners' speculation, this might cause some minimal problems in equipment maintenance, otherwise the herpes virus would not have the ability to stop mining operations. This might bode well for the competitive financial marketplace, because as long as the miners are usually secure, the cryptocurrency ecosystem will continue to operate. Related subjects: Is definitely China's mining sector, which accounts for 70% of the world, affected by the "Wuhan epidemic"? Miner: The device will not get pneumonia Related subjects: Miners discussion: Will Bitcoin crash following the prize halving or will the price double? Show off? The outbreak from the Wuhan epidemic provides deeply regretted and feared everyone, but this may be a driving force for innovation. When the SARS pathogen broke out in 2003, the web was a fresh tool for many people. At that time, the stations for obtaining information were primarily through TV, telephone, etc. Additionally you had a need to expose yourself to a high-risk environment when buying every day necessities. ; However, it had been someone who saw the huge possible of the Internet at the moment, and this person was the founder of Alibaba Group-Jack Ma. Alibaba was still a software business in the past, and the mark customer group has been also for enterprises; the spread of the SARS epidemic produced Jack Ma realize the need to shop in the home, so he set up the largest e-commerce internet site in China today, Dibao, and afterwards developed Alipay, which played an important part in this particular Wuhan pneumonia, advertised Alibaba internationally and grew to become a model of China's top businesses. Jack Ma furthermore set an "Ali Day time" to commend employees who worked around the clock that year. ?